


Reformation

by SilberSaber



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arkham Asylum, Canon-Typical Violence, Ed's a manipulative sob but we all knew that, M/M, Minor background pairings, Oswald goes a little Psycho, Role Reversal, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Tetch Virus, spans seasons 2-3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-02-07 01:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 120,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12830862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilberSaber/pseuds/SilberSaber
Summary: Edward Nygma is sent to Arkham Asylum for the murder of Tom Dougherty and the attempted murder of Kristen Kringle where he hopes to be quickly released after undergoing rehabilitation. Months into the program, his plans change when he finds a familiar face among the inmates.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> No beta, all mistakes are mine.

 

 

_Why did you tell her?_

 

“Listen to me, you do not need to worry about Tom Dougherty,” he says, placing a kiss on the back of her hand.

“You are sweet,” she says, her smile waning,”...but you are not a fighter, you couldn’t possibly take him on.”

“Trust me it’s been taken care of.”

“What does _that_ mean?”

There’s a simple comfort that comes with knowing that there is someone who would fight for you, regardless of whether or not you could handle it yourself. It shows that they will be there for you throughout your battles, that you are important to them.

“Some time ago, he and I had an altercation. I asked him to treat you with more respect.”

“Oh my god.”

“He said he would treat you anyway he liked, and he assaulted me.”

“Oh my god!”

“So anyhow, long story short…”

_You’ll do better with that one if she’s a little scared of you._

“...I killed him.”

The heat of blood rushing through his veins is exhilarating. He’s waited so long to say it, to truly show her what he’s willing to do for her.

The response comes quicker than he’d expected. Her face brightens and then...she laughs. She doesn’t believe him.

“You had me going for a minute there.”

“It was outside of your apartment, under the elevated train. I stabbed him and he died.”

“Ed that’s not funny,” she says, all humor gone from her voice.

“I’m not being funny.”

They stare back at each other for a moment. The annoyed look in her eye tells him she’s still waiting for the punchline.

When Kristen had been with the base, lowlife apes before him, they’d always expected something from her, without giving anything in return. What had they proven themselves as other than mindless bullies? Ed had been much better to her than they ever had. Certainly she didn’t think he was the same way...

He gets up from the bed pulls Dougherty’s badge from the cabinet. Sits sits down next to her and holds it up, like a cat bringing a dead bird back to its master. She reads the name.

“Do you believe me now?”

Realization dawns on her face before morphing into disgust.

“Oh my god.”

“What’s wrong,” he asks. She couldn’t really be this saddened by the thought of that monster being dead. She slowly pulls herself off the bed. “Where are you going?”

“How could you?” She keeps her eyes on him, as if she’s waiting for him to attack.

“No, please sit down.” He tries to pull her back to the bed but she slaps his hand away.

“Don’t touch me,” she shouts and walks to the end of the bed to collect her clothes.

“Would you please let me explain?”

“There is nothing to explain. I don’t even know who you are. No that’s wrong, you are a murderer.”

This isn’t supposed to be happening. He could understand her having trepidations about it, but he was hoping for her to be more relieved than anything.

“He was a monster, you said so. He was abusing you.”

“I can’t believe I even fell for you, you sicko!” She’s tiptoeing around him as if he has the plague, refusing to let any part of him touch her as she grabs her purse.

“I’m not sick, I love you. I did it for you.”

“Everything I ever thought about you I was right. I should have my head examined.”

“Don’t say that.”

She pauses for a moment, then turns back to him.

“Wait, what were doing outside my house?"

“I was worried for you.”

“You were stalking me! You are a psychopath!”

“That is not true! That is not who I am,” he says, voice trembling. “Don’t say that about me.”

“You are going to prison, where they are going to do horrible things to you, things that you deserve.”

“Don’t say that to me.”

He takes a step towards her, she takes one back, moving towards the door. He grabs her arms to pull her away.

“Don’t touch me,” she snaps and slaps him hard across the face. As he’s turned she runs to the door, but he’s faster and is able to grab her before she gets it open.

“Let go of me you freak!”

“Please don’t call me that.”

She hits him again, this time with her glass. Stinging pain spreads across his face as he falls to the floor and small bits of white dot his vision.

“Help!”

“Listen to me!” He grabs her again, hand covering her mouth to muffle the screams. His other hand pushes her so that she can’t look away. “I am not the man you think I am. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

She struggles in his grasp. He holds her tighter.

“I had to kill him, because he hit you, do you understand that? I did it for you!”

He doesn’t notice the way she’s stopped struggling, nor the new paleness of her skin.

“I promise that I will never do anything to hurt you ever again. I love-”

Before he can finish, something hard slams into the side of his head. He falls to the floor again, head hitting ground, his vision swims and everything feels numb.

He hears the sound of Kristen choking as she gasps for air.

“Help me, oh my God, someone help!”

When Ed looks up, he sees her banging pitifully against the door, his wooden bedside table in her other hand. There are tears streaming down the sides of her face and over the dark patches blooming across her neck, her pleas melting away into desperate sobbing.

“Please, don’t,” he mumbles. He weakly grabs the end of her nightgown, but she pulls away and screams.

“I said let go of me!”

She swings the table down again and everything goes black.

 

**.**

**.**

 

There hadn’t been much evidence of Tom Dougherty’s demise left behind, Ed had made sure of that, but it didn’t matter. Dougherty’s disappearance combined with Kristen’s testimony of his confession and her subsequent charges of assault would have been more than enough to sway the jury. So instead of pleading innocence, his lawyer went with a self defense plea. There were plenty of witnesses to Dougherty’s violent behavior in the past. Even Kristen herself admitted that their relationship had been abusive.

His defense was simple: Ed had confronted Dougherty over his abuse, Ed was attacked, Ed fought back. The incident with Kristen was the result of Ed panicking at the thought of her going to the police and there had been no intended threat on his part. It was a perfectly viable defense, it was the truth after all.

But then they had brought in the note, that goddamned note.

He hadn’t expected her to keep it. Who would want to keep a breakup message with them after they’d already moved on?

The note was all the prosecution needed to spin the case against Ed. It demonstrated that there had been some level of thought on Ed’s part in Dougherty’s murder, and the fact that he had left his name as a playful afterthought only proved that there had been no remorse in his actions. This was no longer the story of a man trying to protect someone he cared about. This was a man who had been stalking an innocent woman and meticulously plotted the death of her lover. Once he saw that she didn’t approve of his actions, he tried to kill her in a jealous rage.

The sentence came as no surprise. Guilty, murder, of the first degree, with the added bonus of attempted murder and stalking.

The question now was what would happen to him next. Life imprisonment was a little over the standard sentencing for a one-time murderer. He’d probably be given twenty years at Blackgate, get shivved by some perverted, scum inmate, and bleed out in the medical ward.

He wished Kristen had swung a little harder, killed him then and there when she’d had the chance.

“Mr. Nygma, I understand that this is a difficult time for you. We have to start looking for the best options.”

His lawyer is sitting in front of him in one of the visiting rooms of the detention center, some county appointed attorney whose name he can’t even remember. Ed’s been blowing this meeting off since his trial the week prior, but with his sentencing hearing scheduled for tomorrow, the man insisted they speak.

“The best of the worst, you mean?”

“I believe I’ve found you something a little better than that.” He takes a manila folder and a pen from his briefcase and pulls out a stapled stack of papers. “You are aware of Arkham’s recent change in management, yes?”

Hearing the name alone sets a fire to Ed’s blood.

“I am _not_ insane.”

“I’m not saying you are, Mr. Nygma,” the Man replies, all too quickly. There’s no doubt in Ed’s mind that he believes what everyone else has said about him, even if he’s too scared to say it. Good, let him be scared.

“The new Chief of Psychiatry is trying to implement a revised mental health rehabilitation program for inmates with criminal offenses. They are in the process of researching alternative cognitive therapy models that have a guarantee for permanent success.”

Ed glowers at the Man sitting before him and leans back in his chair, arms crossed.

“Cognitive therapy is for people who need to change their pattern of thinking in order to obtain regular thought processing. I doubt whatever this experiment is would have any substantial effect given my psyche is fully intact.”

“All the more reason it would be worth our time for you to apply, Mr. Nygma,” he responds, sliding over the application. “Since you are a sane man, you should have no problems completing the program. You would be under close supervision, so you would have more protection than other facilities provide. You’re incarceration would also be drastically shorter.”

That gets his attention.

“How much shorter?”

“There’s potential that you could be in and out in a matter of months.”

 _Months_. It was definitely better than spending years at Blackgate, if he even made it that long.

He takes the application and skims through each of the sections. Aside from basic descriptions of various methodologies and a consent form for medication, there isn’t any clear therapy regimen mentioned. He supposes they’re planning on improvising based on how their sessions go. The whole thing sounds dodgy, and the thought of being boxed in with raving lunatics had set him on edge to begin with, but the idea that he could be out after a few months...

“Let’s say I do apply, and then somewhere down the line I decide it isn’t working out for me. What happens then?”

“In that case, you would be transferred to Blackgate to carry out a full sentence. The same goes in the event of you refusing to cooperate with the program.”

So it’s a decision between whether or not he wants to be imprisoned. It’s an obvious choice, too obvious. Ed isn’t one to believe in karma on a cosmic scale, but there has to be some kind of catch here.

There wouldn’t be anything for him to come back to, most of his possessions were sold to make anticipated restitution payments and he certainly wouldn’t be reinstated at the GCPD. What reason did he have for reentry sooner than later?

His mind gives him one answer, Kristen Kringle.

He couldn’t bear the thought of her hating him for so many years, moving on to another man that would treat her just as badly as the others had. Once he had been cleared with Arkham, maybe then she would finally see that he wasn’t some kind of psycho, that he was just a man that honestly loved her. Given time, he could make her understand.

_What has no hands, but might knock on your door, and you’d better open up if it does?_

The silence is broken by the Man clearing his throat, clearly becoming impatient. Without another word, Ed takes the pen and begins signing the forms.

“I think you’re making a good choice, Mr. Nygma. From what I’ve heard this program sounds like exactly what you need.”

Ed considers taking the pen and jabbing it into the Man’s eye, but decides that’s something he can wait on for when he isn’t on the verge of avoiding imprisonment.

When he finishes signing, the Man stuffs the forms back into his briefcase.

“So what do I do now?”

“We need to build the case that you will cooperate with receiving therapy. You need to show the judge that you are remorseful and that you want to change.”

“You want me to beg.” It isn’t a question and the Man doesn’t answer him.

“They’re going to expect some sort of testimony on your behalf. Is there anyone you can name that will testify for you?”

Ed thinks back to the trial, remembers the faces of his coworkers, full of contempt.

“No, I don’t think so.”

The Man sighs. “I’ll ask around then. I can’t guarantee I can find someone on such short notice, but I’ll try.” He stands and waves to the guards.

“See you tomorrow Mr. Nygma,” he says, leaving the room, and Ed is escorted back to his cell.

As soon as the guard shuts the door behind him, the reality of what has happened sets in. A whole new realm of possibility has opened up. He imagines how he’ll be able to find a job once he’s released, what he’ll say when he sees Kristen next.

“ _Oh, there’s quite a few things I’d_ love _to say to her._ ”

“Shut up, you don’t get to talk to her.” He glares at his double, who smirks at him from the corner of the room. “This is all your fault. I never should have listened to you.”

“ _Yes, of course it’s my fault that you can’t keep your foot out of your mouth_ . _If you really didn’t want to be here, you should have let me finish the job_.”

“Stop it! Don’t you dare talk about her like that, I’ve worked too hard to listen to you say these things.”

The double just rolls his eyes. Ed lays down on the bed and curls himself so that he’s facing the wall.

“If there’s anything good about all of this, it’s that you’ll be gone when I’m done,” he murmurs into the pillow.

“ _Do you really think I’ll go away with a little therapy? As soon as they know about me, they’ll know you really are insane ."_ Ed knows this thing doesn’t really exist, but even so he can feel it stepping closer, standing above him. “ _And unlike you, I’m just fine letting everyone know just how much we loved bashing that pig’s skull in_.”

He snaps his head back to the double, who gives him a toothy grin. “You wouldn’t.”

“ _Try me_ ,” he says before sauntering off into the shadows. “ _Get some sleep. You already look like a mess, we can’t have you being a tired mess_.”

 

**.**

**.**

 

For the first time in months, Oswald finds himself waking up to the morning sun.

As he opens his eyes, the bright light shining through the windows of the camper sends a sharp pain through his skull. It’s promptly followed by the growing pain from the hole in his back and chest where Tabitha Galavan had shot him. His entire body feels too heavy, and his face is sticky with snot and sweat. He’s been unwell ever since the night of his mother’s murder and now it seems to have grown into a full blown fever.

He props himself up against the wall, a feat that takes more energy than he has to spare. The cloth has already soaked through with blood and he guesses the back is no different. There had to be a medical kit somewhere in this rolling trashcan. He wouldn’t be able to work on the wound on his back for now, but he could stitch up the one on his chest.

He slowly crawls over to cabinet beneath the sink and pulls out an already opened bottle of whisky. The owner of the trailer, lying dead on the floor next to him, kept his cupboards fully stocked with liquor, much to Oswald’s luck. He takes a long swig and then pushes himself up using the counter, his already swollen leg racked with hours of running.

He scavenges the cupboards for anything other than cheap booze. His leg is just about ready to give out when he finds a plastic kit box shoved behind a box of old trail mix. As soon as he grabs it, he falls to the floor, groaning at the pain. He opens the box and pulls out a spool, threading the string through a needle. He takes another swig of the whisky before pouring it over the wound, hissing as it runs down his chest.

It only takes a few stitches to close it up, but each one stings worse than the last. As the fever grows stronger, his vision swims and his needlework become haphazard. Once he’s done, he ties it off and slumps against the floor, too dizzy to move.

Some time passes, he doesn’t know how long he’s been laying there, watching the shadows of leaves dancing in the wind. All he can think about is Theo Galavan as he kills him over and over again in his head, shooting him in the face, ripping each of the fingers from his hands, stabbing him in the back as his mother was. Each scenario more gruesome as he slips into blissful delirium.

_Oh Liebchen, you look so tired ._

But what good would it do him? After that stint at the election party, no one would follow him now, if he even managed to avoid the police. He couldn’t face Galavan alone, much less Tabitha or Butch. If he somehow succeeded, there would be nothing left for him. His empire was in ruins, and his mother was gone. What would even be the point anymore?

_Why are you so sick ? Tell your Mama ._

He could just stay here, for a few days at least. No one would be able to find him. God knows how long it took him to find it. He couldn’t even remember how long he’d been driving, how far he’d gotten from town before running out of gas. No one would bother searching for him this far outside of Gotham, they probably didn’t care if he was even alive.

Once he it was safe enough to leave he could hitch a ride far away from the city, settle down in some town, live a real life like his mother would have wanted.

_It’s okay, I take care of everything . You rest now ._

Yes, that sounded lovely. He could make a home for himself, a quiet place with friendly neighbors. No mobs, no conspiracies. Just him and his mother.

With that thought in mind, he slowly closes his eyes and lets his mother’s singing lull him to sleep.

 

**.**

**.**

 

There aren’t many people attending the hearing, some unrelated citizens, a reporter or two, all watching on with mild disinterest. Ed scans over the aisles for Kristen, but she isn’t there. Couldn’t be bothered to see what would happen to him.

His eyes lock on Detective Gordon and Dr. Thompkins sitting a few rows behind him. They whisper back and forth between one another when Lee catches Ed staring at them. Her face is one of disappointment and pity, and when Jim turns his is the same way.

Ed looks away, his face coloring with shame. All he can think of is running out of the courthouse, far away from Gotham. He takes a deep breath. This hearing won’t take long and once it’s over he won’t have to face any of them for a long time.

He zones out for the majority of the hearing. Mr. Dent makes a few remarks about the note and the fact that it was a cop that was killed, but the prosecution doesn’t have anything to new to add. He’s called to the stand to make his statement, a concoction of lies he’d thought up the night before about how he regretted the pain he’d caused for the whole department and that he really wanted to get better. When the time comes for testimonials, Lee takes the stand first.

“How are you related to the defendant, Dr. Thompkins,” the judge asks.

“He’s my coworker, your honor.”

The lack of the word _friend_ gnaws at the back of his mind.

“I understand that you were the one who suggested Mr. Nygma be applied to this program.”

“Yes. I was interested in how the facility was running, having worked there myself. When I heard about this program, I thought it would be a good opportunity for him.”

“Why do you believe institutionalization is a better choice for Mr. Nygma, aside from the obvious.”

“He’s a forensic scientist, and he was always enthusiastic about his work. I that believe partaking in research will be a good motivation for his cooperation.”

“Is there anything else you would like to add, Doctor?”

“No, your honor.”

It was short, very clinical, not the kind of thing one would expect from one of their closest friends. Maybe they had never really been friends to begin with. They’d only grown close after he and Kristen had started dating, but he’s always thought they had gotten along fine before that.

“Our next testimony comes from James Gordon. Detective, would you take the stand.”

Gordon sits at the podium. He looks disheveled, like he hasn't gotten much sleep. It probably has something to do with the recent election, Ed had heard there was some fuss during the Mayor's celebration party.

“Detective Gordon, how are you related to the defendant?”

“I am also a coworker of his.”

“Why do you believe Mr. Nygma should be institutionalized?”

“Ed and I have only known each other for about a year now, but in that time I have known him to be nothing if not a hard worker. He’s always remained on task and been more than helpful, I’ve often asked for him directly for consultation on cases. While I can’t say I have any credible background in psychology, I’ve come face to face with many offenders over the years, and I am under the impression that this incident with Officer Dougherty is an isolated one. What he did was done for the right reasons in his mind, as misguided as he was. I doubt he would even consider harming another person under most circumstances.”

He offers a quick glance which Ed doesn’t return, his jaw locked in anger and embarrassment. He knew everyone at the GCPD had thought of him as a helpless loser, worthless outside the comfort of a crime lab. Out of all of them, Ed had thought Gordon to be the one that truly believed in him, saw him for what he could become. Now even he had been turned against him.

“Your honor, I believe that Edward Nygma is more than capable of undergoing rehabilitation. He has more than enough drive to better himself.”

It’s very convincing and Ed knows it’s because he truly believes it. He refuses to look at Gordon as he is sent back to his seat. His eyes start glistening with tears, but he blinks them back. He knows his lawyer would probably want him to cry, it would make it all the more convincing, but he refuses to shed tears over this. He is not weak.

As soon as Gordon is sitting, the judge calls Ed before the bench for his sentence.

“For the record," the judge says, shooting Ed with a look of disdain,"...I would like to say that I believe Mr. Nygma is more than deserving of a full sentence to Blackgate. The murder of a police officer not something to be taken likely, especially in this political climate.”

He pauses and Ed feels frozen at the spot.

“However, given the increase of violent crime we’ve been witnessing these past few weeks, this research at Arkham has demonstrated very much potential. Therefore, this court approves the institutionalization of Edward Nygma into Arkham Asylum. Tomorrow, Mr. Nygma is to be transported to Arkham to commence rehabilitation under the supervision of Dr. Hugo Strange. In the event that he is unable to fulfill the requirements as a patient, he will be transferred to Blackgate Penitentiary with a sentence of thirty years and eligibility for parole.”

With that, it’s over and he has his small victory.

He looks back into the crowd as some of the audience leaves and new people come in awaiting the next trial. Lee doesn’t look at him, but Gordon offers a tight smile before they too make to leave, their jobs done.

He should be relieved, but all he feels is an empty loneliness. He never knew success could hurt like this.

 

**.**

**.**

 

“Oswald, come dance with me.”

The club is empty, the customers having long given up on any expectations of entertainment for the night. Falcone will probably send one of his men down to straighten things out with the attendance issue, but that’s later. Right now, he watches from one of the tables as his mother dances on stage, glowing with the blue neon behind her as Sinatra echos off the walls. She always talked about her dance lessons as girl, he wonders if she was just as beautiful then as she is now.

“I’m fine just watching.”

She turns to him, confused, before she understands.

“Oh. I forgot your poor leg,” she says as she walks off the stage. “Is it hurting you now? Here, let Mama look at it.”

Oswald waves her off.  “It’s fine, mother. Just go on without me.”

She smiles as she kneels down before him. “My _baba_ works so hard for me. I take care of you now.” She stretches his leg over her skirt and pulls up his slacks. She hums as she begins to massage his leg, the soreness already dissipating.

“I worry this restaurant business is too much for you. You must take a break.”

“Everything is fine with business, don’t worry about that.”

She looks up at him, face serious. “You cannot lie to your Mama. Some villain is out there making trouble for you.”

“It’s nothing to worry about, I have it all under control.”

“You always say this, and then you come home to me more broken than before.” Her once soothing touches are now beginning to hurt as her fingers tighten around his shin. “You can’t let them stomp you out like this.”

“Mother, you’re going too hard.” He tries to pull his leg back but her grip is iron. When he looks back to her, she is trembling with anger.

“You can’t let them do this to you,” she shudders, voice low. “I won’t let…”

“Mother?”

His leg falls from her grasp as her eyes roll back as she falls to the floor, the trembling now escalated to convulsions. He falls from the chair to hold her up. When he lifts her, she’s much lighter than she should be and there’s a puddle of blood pooling on the floor beneath her.

“Mother, what’s happening?!”

Before she can answer, her body starts slipping away from him, as if she’s been turned to vapor. The paint curls as it peels off the walls, followed by the curtains degrading away. An inky blackness seeps in, snuffing out the lights.

“Don’t let them do this, Oswald,” she whispers sinking away into the darkness.

 

 

 

The second time he wakes, the sun has long set. His fever has broken, but his mouth is parched from dehydration and he has a massive headache. It hadn’t been a good idea to drink that much with no food. He tries standing but his leg is killing him, throbbing with every heartbeat. He crawls over to the fridge, inside there’s a water bottle and enough for him to make a sandwich.

As he eats, he examines his stitches. The needlework is sloppy and he’ll have to redo it, another bad decision on his part, but it doesn’t hurt as much as it did earlier. He’ll have to have a medic look at it when he gets back into the city.

He pauses mid-chew, remembering what he’d told himself that morning. He might have been starved and delirious from pain but it still made sense for him to leave while he had the chance, abandon the carcass to the scavengers looking to take over the crime scene.

If he remembers anything from the last few days, he thinks he passed by a bus station a few miles before he broke down. He could find a bus heading into the country and maybe then…

“ _You can’t let them do this to you, you’ve worked so hard Liebchen_.”

“I know, but what else can I do?”

He feels his mother rest her hand softly against his back.

“ _You are such a smart boy, you will think of something_.”

He takes another bite of his sandwich and gathers his memories from that night at the party. It seemed Tabitha liked to play as Theo's personal bodyguard, he would have to separate them somehow. He was helpless without his sister, he remembers how he’d hidden behind Detective Gordon like a small child.

“Jim will help me,” he says, nodding to himself. “He’s planning something, I know it. He’ll need help outside of the law now that the Captain is going by the books.”

“ _Yes! There’s my son, so intelligent and resourceful. You show those bullies you can’t be pushed around like that_.”

Oswald smiles to himself. “Yes, I’ll do just that.” He’ll find Theo Galavan and destroy him, and then take down Tabitha for dessert. Butch could still be usable, if he could just figure out how to take control of him again. He’ll figure that out when the time comes.

He pushes himself off of the floor, the sweet nectar of revenge pulsing through his veins.

“Let’s go Mother, we have a bus to catch.”

 

**.**

**.**

 

A lot of progress had been made at Arkham since he’d last been there after that mess with Gruber. He’d heard that the new management was receiving private funding since Falcone and Maroni had left the scene. It had definitely done the place some good.

The van drops him off at the entrance where there are two men in white uniforms waiting to collect him. They bring him to a room where he’s handed a striped uniform, which is scratchier than it looks and smells of powdered soap. Once he’s changed they have him sit outside a room numbered 315. The doors are frosted over, so he can’t see inside, and there’s no sound coming from within. They sit there in silence, save for the occasional screams and gibberish that echo down the halls.

“Do either of you gentlemen like riddles,” he asks after a few minutes, looking between the two men at either side of him. Neither of them answer him, just continue staring ahead. “Why don’t I start you guys off with an easy one. What has four fingers and a thumb, but is not made of flesh and bone?”

“A glove.”

The new voice causes Ed to jump in his seat while the attendants don’t even flinch. There’s a man standing to the side of the bench that he's sure wasn’t there two seconds before.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the man chuckles, stepping forward and extending his hand. “I am Professor Strange, welcome to Arkham Mr. Nygma.”

Warily, Ed shakes the man’s hand before he’s directed to stand by the attendants.

“Please, come into my office so we can discuss your regimen.”

Strange guides him into his office. The room is little with sickly yellow lights that shine onto barren walls. Aside from a desk, chairs and a couple or filing cabinets, the room is almost empty.

“You’ve really taken to the mad scientist aesthetic here,” Ed remarks.

“Yes, we are still in the process of moving,” Strange replies. “I haven’t had the time to decorate yet. Please, have a seat.”

They both sit, Strange pulls out a file from his desk.

“I would like to thank you for considering our program. Your participation will help pave the way for future rehabilitation efforts.”

“Yeah, happy to be of service,” Ed replies quickly. “So, what happens now, do I start telling you about my life?”

“This is not part of the program, Mr. Nygma. I make it a point to meet all of my patients as part of our intake protocol.”

“Oh." He has to admit he's a little disappointed. He’d thought up a whole speech for himself on the way over, one he’d now have to save it for later.

Strange opens the folder and pulls out a sheet with a schedule printed on it.

“The schedule here is fairly simple. Mornings begin at with breakfast at eight, then we have group activities until lunch. Between then and dinner you’ll have some free time at the recreation center, and then it’s lights out by nine.”

“Sounds more like preschool then therapy." He means it to be insulting, but Strange just nods.

“There is some similarity I suppose. You are here to learn how to become a better person and structure is always good for the learning environment.”

His voice is too calm when he speaks, patronizing behind a veneer of kindness.

“We’ll be meeting here once a week for little check ins,” Strange stands, adjusting his jacket. “Any changes we need to make along the way will be discussed then.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Ed realizes that their meeting is over.

“So that’s it,” he asks, getting up from his seat. “We’re not going to talk about my past or anything?”

“There will be plenty of time to discuss that later,” Strange says as he motions him to the doors. Ed had heard a lot about therapy in the past, but it doesn’t seem that bad so far. It was a lot shorter than he’d expected.

“I’m sure that this transition has been a very traumatic experience for you. For now, I want you to focus on getting acquainted with the other patients and adjusting to your new schedule.”

Ed scoffs. “I don’t know how you expect me to talk to these people.”

Strange tuts. “Now Mr. Nygma, I must insist that you refrain from this elitism around the others. You must remember, they are here for all the same reasons as you are,” he leans in,”...and not all of them are so friendly.”

With that, Strange heads back to his office and the attendants escort him down the hall. As they walk down further into the building, the yelling becomes louder and more chaotic, the source of which being the recreation center where they stop.

There’s a lot to take in immediately. In front of him, two inmates are wrestling each other over what appears to be a stuffed rabbit. A crowd has formed around them yelling and throwing balled up pages torn from books. A separate fight seems to have started off to the side as another inmate attempts to tear the pages out of a book someone else was trying to read. Towards the back, a man with hair sticking straight into the air is yelling and throwing small pieces of candy at the crowd of onlookers.

Before he can comprehend everything happening in front of him, the door slams shut behind him and he’s stuck in there. He cringes, hoping none of the others noticed him enter, and after a moment it seems he’s in the clear as the crowd continues jeering. He slinks past onlookers and sits down at one of the benches against the walls.

He watches the chaos for a few minutes before he feels the warm air of someone breathing heavily against his cheek. He turns to see a man staring directly at him, an inch away from his face.

“H-hi, hello,” he stutters. The man continues his heaving, causing his glasses to fog up. “Would you mind scooting over a bit, it's a little...cramped.”

The man responds by giggling and continues staring at him, a line of drool now dripping from his mouth. Ed takes a deep breath and turns back to the crowd.

 _Calm down,_ he tells himself. _It’s only a few months, there’s nothing here you can’t handle._

It seemed that the guards were instructed to have little interference because the fighting continued until the toy had been ripped to shreds. That was a good place to start, that was something he could work with. It’d give him plenty of opportunities to work on the others.

This place is just one big puzzle, and if there's one thing Ed loves, it's a challenge.

He smiles to himself. He could do this.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed the first chapter! Next time will be months later with Oswald being sent to Arkham as well.


	2. -

 

 

“I heard you managed to break up another fight at group therapy this morning.”

“I did.”

“That’s four fights over the past week. Very impressive, Mr. Nygma. Were you not an insane man, I may have considered you for our security team.”

Ed twitches at being called insane, but says nothing. He knows Strange is trying to egg him on, he can’t let him know it worked.

“However, I must insist that you leave the staff to do their jobs,” Strange gives him a pointed look. “You must remember that you do not have the authority to give orders here.”

“Well, maybe if your staff weren’t so incompetent, I wouldn’t have to step in. If you’d like, I could even teach them how to do it myself.”

Ed leans in closer, as if in secret. Strange tilts his head closer as well, although it seems to be out of amusement over genuine curiosity.

“It’s getting easier to get them to do things for me,” he says, voice low. “...all it takes is a little companionship. When they know you, they’ll try to use you, but once they think you’re their friend it’s a whole other level. Total control.”

“How very insightful of you,” Strange chuckles. Ed doesn’t find anything about it amusing.

“You don’t think I can really do it.”

Strange hums, not denying the claim.

“That’s fine, in fact it’s probably for the best that you don’t look into it,” Ed leans back into his seat and offers him the most sinister smile he can conjur. “If you ever so much as peeked into the inner workings of my mind, you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. ”

“I’m sure you’re right, Mr. Nygma,” Strange says and checks his watch. “I think that will be all for today.”

 

 

 

The routine is the same every week. Strange calls him in, they talk for a few minutes, and then he leaves.

At the beginning, he had been pleasantly surprised that his therapy sessions were so easy, although seeing as he was most definitely one of the most sane people at the facility, he wasn’t at all shocked.

As the weeks have dragged on, however, the boring monotony has given way to worry. It’s already been four months since he was sent to Arkham and they haven’t even begun scratching the surface of his psyche. He can’t imagine how they were getting anything substantial out of any of these sessions, if they could even be called that.

He’s been suspecting for a while now that they’ve given up on rehabilitating him, leaving him to carry out his sentence in Arkham over Blackgate. From what little he’s picked up from these chats, he’s learned that most of the other members in the program are being kept at another part of the facility. He and another man called Helzinger are the only ones so far that are let out with the regular crowd, and he knows Helzinger of all people won’t be leaving anytime soon. As of late, he’s decided to present Strange with something he could work with, anything to elicit some sort of progress. He’s been playing up the conniving psychopath shtick for a couple weeks now, but it’s obvious Strange sees right through it. At this point, he couldn’t be bothered to pretend that he was providing Ed with any treatment whatsoever.

There was always the other option, he knows, but he can’t risk it. He hates to admit it, but his other half has been flourishing among the idiots at the asylum. It wasn’t a lie when he told Strange of his sway with the inmates; he’s managed to garner enough respect to maintain an elevated standing from the crowd. If Strange ever found out, he’d risk having the voice taken away for good, being sent back to the way he was before his mind split in two.

That cannot happen.

The Him that was before was a spineless loser that no one would bother to give five minutes of their attention to. The Him that was before allowed people like Arnold Flass and Tom Dougherty do whatever they pleased to himself, and even worse, to poor Kristen. No, he wasn’t ever going back to _that_.

So instead, he finds himself stuck in a puzzle that he cannot put together, but he knows no such puzzle exists. The simple answer is that he doesn’t have all the pieces yet, and only time will allow them to find him. He’s waited this long, he can wait more.

 

 

 

The lunch hour has just started, so once the session is over he’s escorted back to the cafeteria. He doesn’t give much attention to what the cooks drop onto his tray, it all tastes like slop to him and he has a better use for it anyways.

He scours over the rows of tables before he finds A153 sitting towards the back. Sharon is an avid reader, especially of things that don’t belong to her. She’s made a habit of stealing the newspapers from the guards when they aren’t looking and he’s itching to fill out a crossword. He sits down next to her as she reads through a copy of the _Gotham Gazette_. She’s not one to give up her hauls so easily, but after weeks of negotiation and planning they’ve managed to work out a lucrative system.

“I want that paper.”

“I want your cookie.”

“Deal.”

He passes the cookie over and takes the newspaper from her. He thumbs through the pages when one of the articles catches his eye.

_Cobblepot Confesses: James Gordon Acquitted for Murder of Mayor Galavan_

He remembers hearing something about their esteemed mayor’s death, not much as the more trivial aspects of life such as politics are generally muted when incarcerated. The thought of Gordon having his life muddled down with subpoenas and legal bills gives him momentary glee, but it’s soon followed by memories in the forensic lab. If only he’d been there to pick at the body.

“So they’re shipping the Penguin off to Blackgate. The mobs are going to be in a frenzy,” he mutters to himself.

“No,” Sharon says, taking a bite from the cookie. “It said they’re sending him here.”

“What?” He snaps back to the paper, skims through the lines until...

“...Oswald Cobblepot will be transferred to Arkham Asylum for intensive behavioral therapy...,“ he reads aloud. “Wait when was this?” He flips to the front page which is dated to the previous day. “If this was printed yesterday, then…”

There’s a clicking of keys as the door to the cafeteria unlocks.

Ed vaguely feels Sharon taking back the paper from him, as well as his entire tray of food, but his attention is locked on the man shuffling into the room. He looks murderous, like a caged animal ready to strike at the next thing that moves.

 _How interesting_ , Ed thinks to himself, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

The door slams shut, drawing the attention of the other inmates. There’s quiet murmuring between the tables as the Penguin makes his way down the rows, which is broken by a chuck of meat being lobbed into his cheek. Probably from Nigel, the man has no restraint.

As if on cue, Nigel yells out. “Penguin pie!”

Some of the others laugh but most wait to see what happens next, and the Penguin doesn’t disappoint. He pushes himself up, standing atop one of the tables.

“There seems to be some confusion. My name is Oswald Cobblepot. Many of you, no doubt would have heard of me, some of you clearly have not. For those poor, ignorant souls...” He shoots a glare at Nigel, who turns away. ”...I offer illumination. I am not a man to be trifled with, oh no. I am powerful, I am vicious, I’m King of Gotham.”

He gives one last look around the room before stepping down from the tabletop. It isn’t long before the quiet breaks with the first idiot to start screaming.

“I am King of Gotham!”

The Penguin looks taken aback as the room slowly erupts into cacophony of jeers. There’s nothing he can do as the crowd turns from awe to ridicule, so instead he slinks down onto one of the benches, back turned to everything else. A disgraced mob boss lost among a sea of morons.

Of all the things Ed could have hoped to happen, this is one he would have never expected. The gears in his mind are starting to whir, turning out more ideas than he can keep track of.

_You and I have some talking to do, my feathered friend._

 

**.**

**.**

 

Oswald is in Hell, he’s sure of it.

His attempts to intimidate the others fell flat as soon as he made his threats. He couldn’t manage to stomach any of the food they’d given him over the shrieking crowd. Now they’ve moved him to another part of this adult nursery with the other freaks yelling and running about, occasionally stopping by to mockingly révérence before ‘their king’. At this rate he’s just glad the glob thrown at his face earlier was food.

He knows it could be worse. At least in here he’s off the streets and away from Butch and his lackeys. Galavan may be dead, but last he’d heard, Tabitha was still prowling the streets of Gotham. He’ll need time to plan out his next moves, and he has to find a way to contact Zsasz and anyone else he can find who still knows what the word ‘loyalty’ is. For now, there’s not much else he can do other than sulk.

“If you’re embarrassed about what happened earlier, you don’t need to be.”

It takes him a moment to realize the voice is directed at him. He looks up to find one of the inmates staring down at him, back straight and hands behind his back like a mischievous five-year-old hiding something from his parents. The man standing before him is a true Poindexter, eyes hidden behind glasses and hair slicked back.

“I haven’t been dwelling on it, actually,” he replies.

“No I guess not, you’re not the kind of person to let something as trivial as shame get you down.”

His voice is so casual, as if they've known each other for some time. There is something familiar about this man, but Oswald doesn’t remember who he could possibly be. He’s not from any of the gangs, obviously, but he can’t place where else he would have seen him before.

“Intimidation never really works here,” he continues, taking a seat across from Oswald, seemingly oblivious to his discomfort. “Having the brains of a monkey makes verbal threats… well it’s easier to solve problems if you can just punch them away.”

“I’m sorry, who are you again?”

The man frowns. “Ed. Nygma. We’ve met before.”

“On what terms?”

The man, Nygma, is quiet for a moment.

“The poor man cherishes me, the rich man bewares me, though my worth is beyond that of any treasure. What am I?”

Oswald pauses before his head falls into his hands.

“Oh God,” he groans.

Nygma grins. “So you remember me.”

“Unfortunately,” he says, looking up. “Wait, aren’t you a cop or something?”

“I’m a forensic scientist. Or _was_ , at least,” Nygma mutters. “I’ve been let go on account of misconduct.”

“Oh.”

“I killed a police officer.”

“I don’t really care.”

“Officer Dougherty, he was romantically involved with the love of my life at the time,” he continues. “He wasn’t treating her right, so I decided to talk to him, set him straight. It didn’t work out so well. Maybe you’ve heard about it, I think it made the papers.”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“That’s not too surprising." He sounds mildly disappointed, but he perks back up soon enough. “It wasn’t like he was missed, Miss Kringle was the only one who ever noticed he was gone. Even then, she was so happy after he’d disappeared...”

The man continues rambling on about some woman (Miss Krinkle?) for a good while. He talks with an enthusiasm that almost convinces Oswald that he means to be friendly, but he is anything but a fool. It’s obvious the man wants something from him. He wouldn’t be surprised if the staff sent him over to soften him down for them. If this is the best they can come up with, then they’ve set the bar way too low.

“Stop.” Oswald cuts the man off, feeling a headache coming on. “What do you want?”

With that, Nygma goes silent. He re-adjusts himself in his seat, pondering the question, before turning back to Oswald with with a smile.

“Do you believe in fate?”

Oswald gives the man a hard stare before he stands from the table and starts hobbling away.

“N-no,” Nygma stammers, voice panicked. “Wait, wait, wait.”

“I’m sure there are better things in this hellhole I can occupy myself with. I don’t need you wasting my time.”

“Please, just hear me out.”

He reaches out, as if to to grab onto Oswald’s shoulder, but pulls his hand back as he’s met with a glare. He looks around the room for a moment before stepping over to the side, gesturing Oswald to follow him. He doesn’t know why, the whole facility is woefully understaffed and the one guard on duty wouldn’t bother with them. Nevertheless, he does as he asks.

“Make it quick.”

“I understand. The thing is...I’m not really supposed to be here.”

Oswald doesn’t try to hold back his disbelief. He scoffs loudly, which makes the other man glower.

“What I did wasn’t any lapse in my sanity, I wanted to kill him and I did. The only reason I’m here is to avoid prison. I assume you are familiar with the concept.”

“Perhaps,” he replies coldly. _Is this some kind of extortion?_

“I don’t need to get better, not in the way they want me to.”

“And what do you expect me to do about it?”

“I need advice. Dougherty’s murder… changed me, and like the butterfly I’ve come to realize that I cannot become a caterpillar once again. You’re one of the city’s most notorious killers, I was hoping that you would guide me on this new path.”

“I’m quite familiar with brown nosing, friend, I _am_ a mob boss. Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“I’m not trying to butter you up, Mr. Penguin. You have come to me, now, when I have needed you to be here. I mean it, you are the perfect person to help me.”

Oswald nods quietly. “I’ll give you some advice. If you think you can coerce me into doing your bidding, then you’ve overestimated yourself.”

Nygma looks confused. “Coerce…?”

“You think you can threaten to expose me to the management to get me to… honestly I’m not really sure what it is you’re asking of me.” Oswald steps up to him, and to the man’s credit, he doesn’t so much as flinch. “Well guess what, I’m not the only one whose life is riding on my being here, so if you mess this up for me, you’ll be dealing with them too.”

Nygma shakes his head. “I wasn’t trying to threaten you, I want to help you.”

“Help me? Help me _how_ exactly? From what it looks like, you’re the one that came to me for aid. I doubt there’s anything I need from you.”

“On the contrary, I think you’ll find I have a lot to offer. I know how this facility runs, how to get things...” He gives a quick look around, before leaning in, voice hushed. “...and I will even help you escape.”

That manages to catch him off guard, only two hours in Arkham and already he’s hearing of plots to escape. It’s so blunt that Oswald can’t tell if he it said out of desperation or if he’s attempting some sort of power move. Given what he’s seen of Nygma’s mental capacity in the last few minutes, it’s hard to tell if he’s sincere or just full of himself. Regardless, the offer is intriguing.

Before he can ask more, the door unlocks and a guard walks in, reading off of a clipboard.

“B113,” the guard calls out. “Professor Strange would like to have a word with you.”

 _Fucking finally,_ he thinks. He turns back to Nygma, smirking. “Well, it seems that I’m needed elsewhere.”

“We’ll discuss this later,” Nygma whispers.

“Hm, I doubt that,” he says and hobbles over to the guard.

Oswald lets the orderlies guide him down hall away from the rec room. When he looks back for a brief moment, Nygma is staring at him through the fence. He rolls his eyes, considering how he’ll deal with him later.

 

 

 

Ed watches as the Penguin disappears down the hall to Strange’s office.

“ _Great job_ ,” the voice laughs. “ _Persuasive as ever_.”

Ed ignores him and walks over to the the games cabinet, pulling out one of the puzzles. He’s been asking the nurses for new puzzles for weeks, having finished all of the ones the facility had when he first arrived. Their game center is overall lacking, maybe he could pass the time writing suggestion letters.

“ _Don’t try to mute me out, this is kind of a big deal_.“

He sits down at the nearest bench and pours out the pieces from the box, splaying them out. He separates them by edges, then colors, before getting started.

“ _You think he’s really going to help you_ find yourself _, you idiot_ ? _Do you understand just how pathetic you are right now_ ? _This is the man that swindled two sides of the mob out of Gotham. The man’s on a much higher plane of convoluted than you could ever dream of, and you want him to help you work on your people skills_.”

“You think I’m an idiot?”

Ed sighs through gritted teeth.

“No, Rudy, I do not think that. I wasn’t talking to you,” he says, turning to the man sitting next to him at the table. “If you don’t mind, this is kind of a private conversation.”

“Oh uh, sorry,” Rudy shies away, scooting down the bench.

Were he not in a sanitarium, Ed wouldn’t have dared talking back when surrounded by other people, but if anything has come out of the past few months, he’s learned that talking to oneself is a mundane concept among the inmates. As long as none of the guards caught him, Professor Strange would never know about his other half.

“Maybe he is out of my league, but if I can get him to help me then I can finally get everything sorted out.” He starts clicking the pieces together.

“ _Yeah, well, you’ve done a good job at that haven’t you_?”

“Introductions don’t really matter, and it’s not like he’s going anywhere. I’ll have plenty of time to convince him.”

The double snorts. “ _Unlike you, this man actually knows what he’s doing_ . _What do you think he’ll will do when he finds out you lied to him_?”

“Nothing, because I didn’t.”

That earns him a moment of blissful silence before he’s met with a burst of laughter.

“ _You really think you’re gonna bust him out of here_.”

“I’ll figure something out,” he says, not looking up from the puzzle.

“ _No offense, but between the two of us, I’d say I have the better share when it comes to scheming_.”

“Maybe so, but if he agrees to help me then I’ll have taken control of you, and then I’ll use that to work on an escape plan.”

The double scoffs, but Ed can feel its presence fade ever so slightly.

“You’re afraid it might work.”

“ _The only thing_ _I’m_ afraid _of is that you’re going to get ourself killed_.”

“Well then, if you’re so worried, why don’t you help me? It’d be a shame if I happened to have a little slip-up that got me into serious trouble. We both know the Penguin has a reputation for being short-tempered, after all.”

“ _Yes, of course, threatening to hurt yourself as if I don’t already know you don’t have the guts to go through with it_ ,” the doubles sneers, but it’s soon followed by quiet consideration. ” _...but I must say, I’m liking this attitude you’ve got going on. I’m a little curious to see where you’re going with it_.”

Ed continues with the puzzle in silence. _They should really get some with more pieces_ he thinks, nearly halfway finished already. He doesn’t have to wait much longer when the double sighs in surrender.

“ _Fine, you win. I’ll get the Penguin for you, but the moment you start floundering, I’m taking over for good_.”

Ed smiles at his victory. He isn’t even mad when he feels the beginnings of his mind slipping away from him. He clicks the last piece into place before the world fades away.

_Things are finally looking up._

 

**.**

**.**

 

Oswald’s meeting with Professor Strange leaves him feeling tense. What was this ‘rehabilitation’ they were talking about? It must have been part of his sentencing, with him not being considered sane enough to consent on his own. They could have at least told him about it ahead of time, the bastards, he still had his rights.

The idea of therapy on its own is not overly concerning, but meeting with the Chief of Staff himself has given him a clearer view of what he’ll have to deal with from the staff, and it fills him with dread. A jibe or two from few crazies is predictable, but the arrogance of the staff sets on edge. They’ve all already forgotten that he was one of the most ruthless bosses Gotham had ever seen. As soon as his sentence has run its course, he’ll be sure to pay each other them a personal visit and offer a friendly reminder.

When he’s back in the rec room, he heads towards the far end, away from the others. Maybe it’s the anger that distracts him when he slams into one of the other inmates.

“Hey!”

“Watch where you’re going,” he hisses.

It isn’t until he gets a better look at the man that he decides that rudeness was a bad idea. The guy is huge, and brimming with rage. He barely manages to duck as the man takes a swing at him. He’s in a bad position, too close the wall, the man could easily corner him.

“Helzinger!”

The giant stops abruptly, dropping his fists to the side. He looks down at the ground like a shamed child, as Nygma walks over with a disappointed look on his face. The fight had barely started before he interfered and Oswald has to wonder, _Was he watching us?_

“Are you picking fights again?”

“No! He’s the one that started it.”

Nygma tuts, arms crossed. “I don’t think the Professor will be happy to hear about this. It’s your third time this week.”

“It _was_ him! He walked into me on purpose and then got mad at me.”

Nygma gasps loudly and turns to Oswald. “Did he really?” He asks, exaggerating his distress. “Well that just won’t do.”

The last thing Oswald needs today is another condescending asshole talking down to him like a child. He snarls, the urge to punch him in the face growing rapidly, but Nygma turns back to the other inmate before he can do anything.

“Listen, he’s new. Let me talk to him okay?”

“But he...but,” Helzinger stutters.

“If he says he’s sorry, will you let it go?”

Helzinger says nothing, which Nygma takes as a ‘yes’ and turns back to Oswald.

“Mr. Penguin?” Nygma looks at him expectantly which Oswald returns with a glare. Nevertheless, he complies with the act.

“Yeah, whatever, sorry,” he mutters.

Nygma gives Helzinger a fake, stretched smile. “There you go! Are we all good?”

Helzinger slowly nods before turning and walking away, Nygma waving him off.

“What are you, the inhouse nanny?” Oswald asks, but he ignores it.

“I was hoping we could continue from where we left off,” he says calmly.

“You said you would help me break out of here. Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think I’ll be needing your assistance. As it seems, I’m on my way out already. Apparently, I’ve been assigned-”

“They entered you into the rehabilitation program, I figured as much. You’re one of Gotham’s most renowned criminals, it’d bring a lot of good publicity to the hospital if they successfully treated you.”

Oswald has to admit he’s a little shocked. The way he talks is different from earlier, less gibbering and more focused, and it puts him on edge.

“They told me I would only be here for a few months, it has been several and here I am. Still. Have you heard of anyone being released from here. Anyone at all?”

Oswald thinks back over the last few months. Other than the Maniax breakout, nothing comes to mind. His stomach twists into a knot as he realizes the man might be right.

“There’s no way they’re letting either of us out anytime soon. I know all of the inmates, and I know at least four people other than you that I can turn to. I’m letting you in on this only because I think you can help me adjust for when I get back in the city, but you are in no way necessary to my leaving. I’m going to find my way out of this dump, it’s your choice whether I let you join or not.”

Oswald considers the man before him. It seems he wasn’t lying earlier when he said he had the resources, he was able to get that hulk to listen to everything he said. This guy was a close as he would get to escape. At the very least, he might be able to get his hands on a phone and plan an escape of his own.

“What if I can’t give you the help you’re looking for? It’s not the kind of thing you can teach someone. You either have it or you don’t.”

Nygma smiles. “Trust me, I have what it takes. I’m not asking much from you. I’ll have questions, you can answer them.”

Oswald scoffs. As if it was that simple. Regardless, it’s an easy trade, freedom for idle chat.

“I must warn you, friend-”

“Ed.”

“...Ed, if you do this, there is no chance of redemption for you. This isn’t like in books where you have a moment of realization and decide to turn everything around. Once you start, the need to rise above the rest will consume you. Believe me when I tell you this path you’re on leads to nothing but destruction and pain.”

Nygma offers a small smile. “I think I can live with that,” he says, and extends out his hand. “Do we have a deal.”

“Yeah, fine.” Oswald swats his hand away and walks to the back of the room.

He’s happy to find that Nygma doesn’t follow him, pleased enough with their agreement to leave him be for now. Although, the longer he observes the crowd, the more the other man’s presence unnerves him. Most of the others have occupied themselves with hobbies or chatting, but Nygma just stalks around the room watching the others.

Oswald sighs to himself. _What a freak..._

 

 

 

After dinner passes, the inmates are escorted back to their rooms. For Oswald, it’s the first time he gets a look around his new lodgings. It’s small, resembling a prison cell over a hospital room, with a small cot against the wall and an open toilet across from it. Once all of the inmates are accounted for, the lights switch off, leaving only the glow of the city lights against the cloud to light the cell.

Sleeping doesn’t seem like much of an option for the night. Aside from the thin, uncomfortable mattress and the the constant hum of electricity throughout the building, many of the inmates continue their chattering hours into the night.

“ _What animals_ ,” a familiar voice croons in his ear. “ _Don’t they know how late it is_?”

“Probably not. At least half of them have no awareness of what’s happening, and the other half don’t care.”

“ _My poor Oswald, you need you’re sleep_.”

She sits down on the cot and rests his head in her lap, hands brushing through his hair. They aren’t warm like they used to be, but it can’t be helped. She hums an old song she used to sing when he was younger.

“Don’t worry mother, I’ve slept through worse. I may not even be here that much longer.”

“ _You’re talking about that man_ ,” she says, displeased. “ _I don’t like him_ . _He just like all the other bullies_ . _They lie to you_ , _use you_ . _You must be careful Leibchen_.”

“I know what I’m doing, mother. If that loon somehow manages to get me out of here, I can get rid of him easily.”

After a few minutes, she returns to her singing, and eventually all other noise is drowned out. The melody coaxes Oswald to shut his eyes, but he wills them open, not wanting the beautiful sound to disappear. So instead, he resorts to staring ahead at the concrete wall for as long as he can, before finally falling asleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? A plot?
> 
> Hopefully I'l be able to get the next chapter up within a similar time, but I have school so I may not have as much time. See you then~


	3. -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. This came out a lot faster than I expected. 
> 
> So I sat down and thought out a fuller plot for this story, and now I have a clearer direction with where it’s going.
> 
> Side note: The way I imagine this story’s timing is that Oswald arrives at Arkham a little sooner than he does in the show, so the events aren’t exactly parallel.

 

 

The next morning comes too soon. He doesn’t know how long he managed to sleep before the loud buzzing of the morning alarm rings through the block. Not even an hour has passed since sunrise and the guards are calling them out from their cells. Between the lack of sleep and the freezing cold of the stone walls, it takes all of his will power to pull himself off of the cot.

His cell block is sent to the cafeteria, where they’re handed trays covered in eggs, beans and canned fruit. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Nygma staring at him from one of the tables, the seat next to him suspiciously empty. He ignores it and passes by, choosing to sit at a table at the opposite side of the room. It’s not much longer before he notices the other man making his way over to the table.

“Good morning,” he says, taking the seat next to him. “How did you sleep?”

“I didn’t,” he replies.

“The first week is always the toughest, it gets easier.” His voice is too cheerful for this time in the morning. He picks at the yellow mass on his plate. “What must be broken before it can be used?”

Oswald sneers at the enthusiasm. “Do you need to do that every time?” He asks, and that gets him to shut up for a little while.

He doesn’t eat the food, picking at the mess in front of him with his fork. He can’t ignore the tiny glances Nygma sends him every so often in between bites.

He sighs. “What do you want?”

“O-oh,” Nygma stammers, quickly swallowing his food. “I was hoping that we could start discussing… you know. Since that’s what we agreed on. Unless you don’t want to yet. I mean you just got here so maybe you were hoping to get settled first, and that’s fine...” The confidence that Oswald had seen yesterday is gone and it seems he’s regressed back to a gibbering mess.

Regardless, he relents. “I suppose there are worse things I could be doing than talking about myself. Well, first things first, how many people have you killed?”

“Just the one,” Nygma replies.

Oswald stares at him in dismay. “That’s not much for me to work with.”

“I know how it sounds, but trust me, I need this.“

“Why is that? What are you getting out of this?”

Nygma pauses, letting out a deep sigh. “All my life, I’ve felt like there was someone inside of me. Someone stronger and smarter, someone that people would...respect. If I could just figure out how to be him, everything would fit into place.“

“So that’s what you want, to make everyone you know admire you?”

Nygma ducks his head, face reddening. “I’ll admit, it sounded less conceited in my mind.”

Oswald shrugs. “Hey, attention’s as good a reason as any.”

“What about you? You had a pretty stable position working for Fish Mooney. Why go further?”

_So that I knew I wasn’t worthless trash. To show the brats from school that I could be better than them. For my mother, so she wouldn’t have to worry about her pathetic son._

“I like the power,” he replies. “Knowing that I hold someone’s life in my hands is… thrilling, to say the least.”

“I bet you like letting them know it too. It must be quite the show,” Nygma says with a small smile. “I hope I’ll have the honor of seeing you in action once we’re out of here.”

Oswald smirks knowingly. “That’s good. Using flattery to work your way into my ranks so you can sneak my position from under me someday.”

Apparently he hadn’t expected to get caught so quickly, because he nervously laughs off the accusation. “I wasn’t going-”

“Yes you were, but like I said, that’s a good thing,” he adds before Nygma can try to cover for himself. “You can’t swim to the surface without a little bottom feeding first. The number one weakness against opportunity is pride, so you need to take every chance you get, even if it means licking someone else’s boot first. In fact, I find you’re in a better position when someone believes you’re beneath them. A person is always best manipulated when you know they’re trying to manipulate you themselves.”

Nygma nods to himself in understanding.

“Remember this though, I’ve been a snake in the grass myself. If I even so much as suspect that you’re planning to betray me, I’ll give you a new definition of pain. You got that, Riddle-man?”

Nygma freezes in his seat and the smile slips away. “Yes, I do,” he swallows. “... but I would prefer it if you didn’t call me that.”

“What, Riddle-man?” Nygma tenses again. “Why not?”

“No reason, I just don’t like it,” he replies all too quickly. _So it’s personal..._

“Names aren’t something you can choose for yourself. When the guys at Mooney’s gave me my name, I hated it, absolutely detested the word. Do you know what I did? I built a bridge and got over it.”

Nygma grimaces, unconvinced.

“The way I look, how I walk, it used to be be something that I was mocked for. Now when people see me, they know exactly who they’re dealing with. I’m feared for it, and their fear makes me powerful. That name represents everything that got me to the top. If you want to make it in the crime-world, you can’t let your shame hold you back. You need to use everything you have and fight your way there. Find the thing that you hate the most about yourself, and make it work for you.”

He has to hold back from laughing as he glances at the man sitting next to him. The look on Nygma’s face is as if he’s seen the face of God himself. “Yes, that’s right. You are absolutely right.”

“Yes I am. Now, what else do you want to know, Riddle-man?”

 

 

 

They spend the rest of the hour talking about Oswald’s rise in the gangs, starting with his job at Mooney’s. He recounts some of his exploits working under Maroni and Falcone, Nygma listening with rapt attention all the while. He’s particularly interested in the strategy, which Oswald attributes to his apparent enjoyment for games. He hates to admit it, but it’s not entirely unpleasant talking with him. Even when he was at his best, the forced praise he got from the other bosses was never as satisfying as he would have liked. It felt good to have someone that revered him, and it did his ego some good after yesterday’s disaster.

Once breakfast is over, the inmates are transferred to the rec room for group therapy. Of course, Nygma has elected to sit next to him again as he and a handful of the others are sat around in a circle. Today’s activity is macrame, and all of the patients are passed out patterns to work with. Unsurprisingly he’s been given a pattern for making a penguin.

He’s having a hard time keeping up with the others. The repetitive weaving is almost hypnotic, and he soon feels his eyes grow heavy as the lack of sleep begins catching up with him. If he continues much longer, he’ll probably fall asleep in his seat.

The lesson is put on pause as the nurses deal with a patient who’s managed to cut themselves from winding the yarn too tightly around their hands, giving him a break from the monotony. He surveys the others in the group. The inmate that attacked him yesterday is sitting across from them, carefully tying the tiny knots in his large hands.

“So what’s up with him,” he asks Nygma, keeping his voice low so the others can’t listen in.

“That’s Aaron Helzinger,” Nygma whispers back. “He was part of the Maniax group that broke out a few months ago.”

“He’s not part of your scheme, is he?”

Nygma shakes his head. “The Maniax used him as muscle, nothing else. He’d only be a burden if we involved him.”

“That’s good, I don’t want him hanging around trying to get back at me for yesterday.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, he’s not the kind of person to hold a grudge. He can’t stand criticism because of an overbearing mother, so he tends to have little tantrums. He always wants love and approval, so if you give it to him he’ll just leave you alone.”

“Seemed like more than a little tantrum to me.”

“You haven’t seen him at his worst,” Nygma shudders. “I overheard the nurses mention some treatment involving brain surgery, but it doesn’t seem like they’re going through with it.”

“Work on the amygdala, probably. That’s the part of the brain that deals with anger.”

“That’s correct,” Nygma says, looking up from his work, a small butterfly made from green yarn and beads. “I didn’t know you had an interest in neuroscience.”

“I don’t really, I just like collecting knowledge. You never know when something you hear is going to be useful to you.”

“Same here,” he beams, breaking into a large smile. “Do you ever listen to the Gotham Radio Trivia show? It’s my favorite thing to pass the time here. I was lucky they let me keep a radio in my cell. I’ve been listening to it for years and I’ve never gotten a question wrong.”

“Isn’t that show more for kids?” Oswald asks and the smile falls from Nygma's face.

“The average viewership is a little young I guess, but I wouldn’t say the pursuit of knowledge is limited by age,” he mutters, turning back to his work.

Oswald shrugs. “Maybe, but I find it’s never as fun outsmarting someone that’s so below you.”

Nygma doesn’t have a response to that. He’s concentrating hard on his knots, brows furrowed as he bites down on his lip. He’s obviously mad, probably insulted at having his intelligence questioned.

 _So he’s the silent, broody type,_ Oswald thinks and stows that bit of information in the back of his mind. He can’t have him getting too rustled just yet if he hopes to escape, so he decides to try something different.

“It seems you’ve been keeping good stock of all the inmates.”

“I make it my business to talk to everyone.” His voice is still tense, but at least he responded this time. “They’re easier to manage when you get to know them.”

“You can’t possibly know about everyone.”

“You think?” His voice is laced with a challenge. The guy likes games, he’ll indulge him for the moment.

“Okay then, tell me about them. Start with that one,” he says, pointing to a woman marked as A153.

“That’s Sharon. Kleptomaniacal due to obsessive compulsive disorder. If you give her something to concentrate on, she do whatever you want.”

“And him?” He looks to the next inmate, a twitchy fellow with his hair tied up in clothespins.

“Marvin. Highly neurotic with the mental age of a three year old. He also has pica and obsessively pulls out his hair, so the nurses stimulate the tugging feeling by clipping it down.”

Without any confirmation, he moves on to the next inmate.

“Rudy. He has a compulsion for lying that’s accumulated into malingering. His preferred go-to is dissociative identity disorder and will blame an alternate personality when he’s in trouble. If you play along and let him think you believe him, he’ll trust you enough to do anything you ask.”

They look to the last man, furiously knotting his yarn into a large ball.

“Norton, prone to torture, violence, cannibalism, and he also has some serious boundary issues. He’s harmless as long as he thinks he’s your friend.” When Norton notices the two of them looking at him, Nygma smiles and gives him a small wave, which he returns before going back to the ball.

“You’re right, you do know your stuff,” Oswald says. Nygma gives him a satisfied smirk. It isn’t too surprising, even if he wasn’t a detective, he would probably have to have some skill at reading people. “And what about me?”

“Hm?”

“What have you come up with on me?”

“Oh,” he chuckles. “You know, I haven’t really thought about it yet. I’ll have to get back to you when I’ve come up with something.”

_We’ll have to work on his lying..._

“That is a good answer. One of the most important rules as a criminal is to keep what you know to yourself, especially with people like you and me. We’re tolerated for what we can offer, and once our ammo runs out, we’re tossed to the side. The bigger your playing hand, the more secure your position is.”

Nygma beams at the praise, oblivious to the irony of the situation. It’s almost pathetic how easily manipulated the man is, but he knows there isn’t much room for him to judge. He was much the same not too long ago, with Maroni playing him time and time again. Much can change in a person, he’ll have plenty of time to learn.

With the patients sorted out, the break is over and the nurses are back to patrolling the room. As he returns to the knots, he wonders for a brief moment what Nygma has actually managed to learn about him, but it quickly passes. It doesn’t matter what he thinks.

 

 

 

It’s raining outside, the first time in awhile. He watches the people walking the along the blackened streets below, a mosaic of colors from the umbrellas over their heads with the reflection of street lights glistening beneath their feet. The tallest of Gotham’s towers are hidden away from the buildings below. He always wondered what a storm would look like from the top of one. Would they be surrounded by a grey wall of nothingness, or would they be high enough to see the sun over a sea of clouds?

“One day, when you are big and successful, you’ll see for yourself.”

He turns his head from the cold window to find his mother standing at the arch of the doorway.

“I’m sorry mother, I didn’t realize I said that out loud.”

“Oh you didn’t need to,” she says, taking a seat at the foot of his bed. “A mother always knows what her little angel is thinking.”

She lightly pats the bedding, and he steps away from the window, bundling up under the covers.

“You really think I’ll live in a building like that?”

“I know you will, my darling,” she says with a warm smile.

“No one else does,” he mumbles into the covers. “They all think I’m crazy.”

His mother tuts. “Don’t listen to all those nasty bullies. They’re all jealous of how smart my Oswald is. Envy makes devils out of even the best people.”

“There is one of them that isn’t so mean, but I don’t think he likes me. He just wants to copy me.”

“Oh, again with that horrid man! He talk too much, keeps you away from your mama.”

“Well, he won’t be so chatty once I cut his tongue out,” he replies playfully.

“No he won’t.” She giggles and presses a small kiss to his forehead. “You rest up, my little penguin, tomorrow will be a brighter day,” she says, walking towards the door.

Alarmed, Oswald sits up in the bed. “What did you call me?”

She looks back at him, concerned. “Mr. Penguin,” she says, but the voice he hears is too deep to be hers.

The scene breaks as his eyes crack open. He stares out into a room awash with artificial light, people in striped jumpsuits running about. The pillow beneath his head shifts. He slowly turns his head to the ceiling and is met with a familiar face staring back at him.

“Mr. Peng-”

Oswald shoots up, barely avoiding ramming his forehead into the other man’s face. He rubs his eyes and takes another look around the room, remembering he’s back at the asylum’s rec center.

“Um, it’s dinnertime. I thought you should know,” Nygma says from the bench. He’s holding what looks to be an entomology text he pulled from the bookcase.

“What happened?” He mumbles, his body still sluggish from sleep.

“Well, you were lamenting on the number of cockroaches you’d seen since you got here, and then I started talking more about the different insects that were probably crawling around. That reminded me of a case I had once when I was able to determine the time of death based off the age of the maggots living on the corpse and, uh...” He pauses as Oswald gives him an impatient glare. “I guess you dozed off.”

He scratches his head and looks around for the pillow he was sleeping against, but there isn’t one to be seen. He thinks back over the scene he woke up to and comes to the realization that he’d been laying in his lap the whole time.

“How long was I asleep?”

Nygma checks the wall clock. “Two hours and thirty-six minutes.”

“...And you didn’t think to wake me sooner?”

Nygma shrugs. “You seemed comfortable, I didn’t think I needed to.”

 _No of course he wouldn’t…_ Oswald groans. Who knows how many of the inmates saw him like that, vulnerable and cuddled up into someone else’s lap. Hopefully they would all forget about it by the next day, lest he be subjected to more of their jibes. He catches Nygma is staring at him as usual, but it’s different from before, more apprehensive.

“What?” Oswald snaps.

Whatever’s on his mind, he decides to let it go.

“It’s nothing important,” he says with a smile and closes the book. “Okey dokey. Let’s get out of here, I’m starving.”

 

**.**

**.**

 

Working with Penguin has been going far better than he could have hoped for. He’d expected that Penguin would want him to demonstrate what he could do already, but he soon found that it wouldn’t be necessary. Given his narcissistic tendencies, a little reverence was all Ed needed to get him to open up. They’re only a few days in and he’s learned so much already. He isn’t dumb, though, idle chat alone won’t be enough for him to make a life for himself on the streets of Gotham. Sure he may learn to keep his other half in check, but he’ll need real, hands on experience once he’s on the outside. Based on how well things are going between them, that shouldn’t be a problem since he suspects Penguin will be happy to take him on.

The last few days have followed similarly to the first. They fill their mornings and meals talking back and forth, with Penguin reminiscing his criminal exploits and Ed introducing him to the different aspects of the asylum. Afternoons in the rec room have become the times they take a break from one another, with Penguin using it as his time to rest. It seems he hasn’t yet gotten used to the nightly chatter and still loses out on sleep. After the first incident, Ed has made good on giving Penguin his space, choosing to keep a small distance from him and work on a puzzle or read to himself.

It’s during one such afternoon when his quiet reading is interrupted.

“What about the vents,” Penguin mumbles to himself, lying back against the bench seat.

“What?” Ed asks, looking up from his book. He follows Penguin’s gaze to the ceiling above where a vent is blasting warm air into the room.

Penguin sits up. “The vents should span the whole building, and they have to have an outlet somewhere on the outside,” he says, voice determined. “They’re probably big enough to hold a person. All you’d need is a screwdriver and you could-”

Ed hushes him, checking the room. It could be worse, but it’s still not the safest spot to discuss these things.

“Let’s talk over here,” he says, motioning to one of the corners.

Penguin sighs, but stands up and follows him over.

“The ventilation system is too much trouble to work with. You’d have to get your hands on some kind of build blueprint to get a good grasp of the maze. Even if you did make it out, the guards’ response time is too short. They’d already be at the exit by the time you figured your way out.”

“How would you know that?"

“I… might have tried it,” he admits. “I didn’t make it far, I got lost and the guards had to help me out. They made me share a cell with another inmate for a week as punishment. He wasn’t the best of cellmates.” He grimaces, remembering how the sight of Stirk alone was enough to make him scream like a baby. It was definitely not one of his finer moments.

“Wait, how many times have you tried to escape?”

“Just that time, really. I’ve been biding my time to ward off any suspicion from the administrators.”

Penguin looks at him incredulously. “You’re telling me you’ve only made one attempt and it ended miserably?”

He fidgets under the Penguin’s glare. “...Yes.”

Penguin is silent for a moment before crossing his arms. “That’s it, I want to hear your plan.”

“My plan?” He chuckles, trying not to let his nervousness show. “Well it’s a bit sensitive. I mean, I still have to work out the details, and that takes time, you know?” He chuckles, hoping it’s a good enough excuse to convince him. It isn’t.

“You don’t have one,” he states, his voice less angry than Ed would have thought it’d be. He nods, shrugging to himself. “It’s my fault, really, I should have known. God, I need more sleep.”

“I know that I should have told you, but I thought-“

“Do you realize how much time I’ve been wasting with you?” Penguin hisses, face contorted in rage. That was more of the infamous anger Ed had expected from him. “I have men on the outside I could have contacted by now. I should have you flayed for this!”

“You’re right I don’t have a plan right now, but I can still think of something,” Ed pleads.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he says, turning away. “I’m done with this.”

“Mr. Penguin listen...,” he starts, but is cutoff as Penguin raises his finger to him.

“No, you listen. That’s what we agreed on, right? _I_ talk and _you_ listen.” His voice is deathly calm, and Ed snaps his mouth shut. There’s a beat before Oswald motions across the room. “I’m going to walk over there and forget this happened. You’re going to stay here and keep yourself the hell away from me if you know what's good for you.”

He gives Ed a final warning look before walking away. There isn’t much else Ed can do as Penguin walks off. His glasses start fogging up and beads of sweat start forming on his face. He clumsily wipes down his glasses as hot panic settles in as a familiar, taunting laughter makes its way into his head.

“ _What are you going to do now ?_ ”

“I’m thinking, shut up.” He paces for a moment. The shadows of snickering burn at the back of his mind, interspersed between his thoughts.

“Stop it,” he hisses at the voice, and the laughter ebbs off. He hasn’t ruined everything yet. If he can come up with something, the Penguin would surely take interest again. He sits down at one of the benches and puts his glasses back on, taking deep breaths as he does. “Okay, okay, it’s fine. We can figure this out.”

He sits in quiet thought for a while, facing the gate. He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there when he notices something. There’s a distinct direction in which the majority of the staff are heading. He’s only ever been to the rooms on the left side of the rec room, that being where the majority of the administration rooms and cells are located, and yet most of them are headed to the right.

He wonders if maybe the simple answer is that the hall circles around, but none of the faces that pass by are familiar from before. The next time one of the nurses heads over that way, he takes careful observation of how they look and waits for them to return. After a significant length of time passes, he decides they aren’t coming back.

He finds Sharon, who’s reading at one of the tables, and taps her on the shoulder.

“Your cell’s on the block to the right, yes?” She nods. “What’s over there?”

Sharon shrugs. “The whole hall’s just cells, and then it comes to an end.”

“Nothing else? An office or something?" She shakes her head and returns to the book. He walks back to his seat and continues watching. Again and again, the nurses pass by without returning.

“Why do they keep disappearing down that hall,” he thinks out loud. There’s no reason for the staff to spend so much of their time over their. All of the patients are in the rec room, and performing a cell check doesn’t require that many people.

There has to be something else down there, and he’s going to find out what it is.

 

**.**

**.**

 

Regardless of whether or not he was bound to his research under the threat of death, Hugo Strange would still consider Gotham as his true home. The city has never ceased to provide him with an endless bounty of treasures, from an assortment of mentalities to dissect, to the occasional scientific breakthrough. It’s taken them some time to perfect the new Crane formula, but what they’ve managed to come up with in the lab is sure to be revolutionary.

He’s anxious to try it out on their newest patient, but before they can get started, he has to assess his behavior so far. He’s finds himself mildly annoyed as finding Cobblepot in any of the footage proves to be a challenge. To his surprise, in each of the shots he does manage to find, the man is always found in the company of Edward Nygma. He hadn’t expected him to socialize with any of the others, and especially not with Nygma of all people. It's not too troubling, but it means he'll have to add some changes to Cobblepot’s treatment plan.

As he scours over the tapes, something catches his attention. The two men are often whispering between one another in what looks to be casual conversation, but every so often, when their chatting intensifies, they both disappear from the shot. When he reviews the rest of the footage, it happens again, and again, almost as if they are purposely avoiding being filmed. His suspicions are confirmed as he catches Nygma staring directly back at him through the camera.

“Now this is interesting.”

The security system has three components; the first are the standard, primary cameras that look over the different facilities. They’re very bulky and easy to avoid by the more private inmates. So, in order to have a more thorough view of his collection, he took it upon himself to have smaller, more hidden cameras installed. Based on Nygma's tendency to guide Cobblepot and himself conveniently out of frame when speaking privately, it seems that he’s managed to locate the secondary cameras.

Strange admits he may have underestimated Nygma’s intelligence, but his attempts at escaping detection are futile. The third component of the security system is a set of microphones placed around the rooms. There is at least one set up in each of the cells, and three in the recreation center. Of course, there’s no record of them being installed, it wouldn’t have received any legal support, after all. There’s no way for them to avoid the sensitive recording system. He opens the recording file from the same time slot, which immediately starts with the two of them in heated conversation.

“ _...-telling me you’ve only made one attempt and it ended miserably?_ ”

“ _...Yes._ ”

“ _That’s it, I want to hear your plan._ ”

“ _My plan...Well it’s a bit sensitive. I mean, I still have to work out the details, and that takes time, you know?_ ”

“ _You don’t have one._ ”

Strange chuckles to himself as he listens to the two of them. It’s not surprising that Nygma would be attempting another escape, although he would have expected Cobblepot to be more astute in judging his companions. Then again, poor judgement is what got him sent here in the first place, so who’s to say.

The spat ends soon enough and he’s left to the sound of Nygma’s deep, angry breaths. He’s just about ready to switch the audio off when he’s met with a different sound.

“ _What are you going to do now? I’m thinking, shut up_ ,” he says. There’s a distinct change in his voice as he talks, almost as if it were two people and not one. The sound of footsteps is accompanied by quiet snickering, which ends abruptly. “ _Stop it!_ ”

Strange smiles to himself. He’d always suspected Nygma had been trying to hide something from him. It was natural for patients to try to control the situation during their sessions, but most of them did it by refusing to talk. The way he was always more than willing to open up and vocalize his problems was enough of an indicator that he wanted to cover up his real issues.

Under normal circumstances, he’d be more than happy to let the man wallow in his psychosis, but given his newfound attachment to Cobblepot, he supposes it’s something worth looking into.

“Mr. Nygma, you may actually prove to be very helpful.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve always thought they should have done more with the Arkham storylines, so I’m really excited for the next half of the season.
> 
> ALSO these were the pieces I was referencing for the macrame part:  
> [Penguin](https://farm4.static.flickr.com/3242/2917364270_462418ffe1_b.jpg)  
> [Butterfly](http://www.olgasmacrame.com/images/butterfly/img253-large.jpg)
> 
> See you guys at the next update~


	4. -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains some offensive language

 

 

For the first time in a while, Ed has a plan. Even better, he has a plan that he came up with on his own, without the help of any shady alternate personalities that mock him for coming up with it first. There’s always the possibility that he’s over thinking it, and this whole idea is a waste of time, but if his suspicions are correct and he manages to find anything, then he knows he can get Penguin back on his side.

So far, everything is going smoothly. It isn’t difficult for him to stay out of Penguin’s way considering he hasn’t been able to find him this morning. He’s probably avoiding him, no surprise there, but at least he hasn’t made anymore threats on his life.

He stands by the entrance, biding his time. It’s the end of the week, so group therapy for the day is a few extra hours of recreation, and the inmates are under less supervision. He already has his newspaper in hand, all he needs now is an opportunity. He doesn’t have to wait long before the guard comes by with his clipboard.

“E182, the Professor would like to have a chat.”

Nigel skitters over to the guards who take him from the room. Just as the guards shut the gate behind them, Ed swings the paper down between the bars against the lock. He stills, waiting for echoing footsteps to fade away. Once the coast is clear, he pulls the paper back and the door creaks open, unlocked. He checks around him to make sure no one’s looking before quietly squeezing his way out and shutting the gate.

He passes by the cells, ducking beneath each of the windows. Approaching voices force him to hide in one of the supply closets. A pair of doctors walk down the corridor, reading each other’s notes. As they round the corner, he follows after them, keeping enough distance behind them to avoid detection. Walking further down the hall, he voices grow quieter before disappearing entirely.

He rounds the last corner of the hall and finds… nothing.

He looks around the small room. There’s no office, no lab, no other doors, and most importantly, no doctors. Absolutely nothing. A barren room with one exit.

“How interesting.”

 

**.**

**.**

 

“Come onnn, pick up,” Oswald mutters into the phone. He managed to break away from the assembly line in between breakfast and group therapy and snuck his way into the facility’s laundromat. The desk clerk was conveniently absent, leaving the desk’s rotary phone unattended. He knew the asylum had some outdated technology, but getting a connection shouldn’t have to take this long. He just hopes Zsasz isn’t the type to ignore calls from unfamiliar numbers.

It’s on the last set of the dial tone when he finally picks up.

“ _Hello?_ ”

“Victor, it’s me.”

“ _Penguin? Haven’t heard from you in a while. How’s Arkham treating you?_ ”

 _What kind of a stupid question is that?_ “Terribly. Listen, I don’t have a lot of time, so let’s make this quick. I need you to figure out how to get me out of here.”

“ _Break-ins aren’t really my thing, boss. I mean, getting in ain't a problem, but I’ve never had to take any survivors with me._ ”

Oswald rolls his eyes. “Okay, then go find someone that does have a thing for break-ins and tell them to get me out of here.”

“ _That’s not gonna work._ ”

“What do you mean?”

“ _Well, believe it or not, I’ve already been contacting people about getting you out. Apparently the facility has been getting massive security upgrades recently. You can’t afford the guys that have that level of expertise._ ”

“Can’t afford…? Of course I can afford it! Just get the money from one of my stashes, Butch couldn’t have found all of them.”

“ _Butch_ did _find them all, that’s what I’m telling you. I checked, all of the money’s gone._ ”

That does sound like a problem. He hadn’t anticipated running dry so quickly.

“Okay, I’m going to pretend you didn’t just admit to ducking into my stash, and you and I are going to figure something out.”

“ _I don’t know, man, it’s probably safer to just wait it out._ ”

“No, I can tell you right now that’s not. The staff here are absolute sadists, I wouldn’t even be able to tell the difference between them and the inmates if it wasn’t for the stripes. Please, just find someone that can get me out and pay them off yourself. Once I’m out and back in business, I’ll pay it all back.”

“ _Penguin...listen_ ,” Zsasz sighs into the receiver. “ _I like you, okay? Your particular fondness for ending things with violence has not gone unappreciated. So, believe me when I tell you that I hate to say this...you’re done. The other bosses have already forgotten about you. Even if you did manage to bust out of there, Butch would sic his guys on you as soon as soon as he heard about it, and no one would bat an eye._ ”

Oswald sits in stunned silence. Part of him had expected this would happen, but it still hurt to hear out loud, especially coming from Zsasz. He may have been working under him, but the man had become something of a friend to him. The aching sense of loneliness is soon replaced by hot rage.

“Thank you for your honesty, now let me tell you something,” he growls into the phone. “I am not anywhere close to being _done_ , and if you tell me now that you won’t help me, mark my words, you will regret that decision.”

“ _Uuhhh, sorry I didn’t quite catch that, I think the reception’s getting bad._ ” There’s a faint crackling of what has to be a candy wrapper.

“Are you seriously doing this to me?”

“ _Sscchh sorry I can’t sscchh I didn’t catch that sscchh…_ ”

“Don’t you dare hang up on me, you hear me Zsasz? It took me too long to get this phone you-” The line clicks off.

The phone makes a small chime as he throws it hard against the wall. He balls up the shirt of his jumper and bites down, screaming as loud as he can without the guards catching him. He sulks there alone for a few minutes when he hears the lunch bell ringing, signalling the time for him to return to the others.

He finds the the others being transferred between the rooms and hops back in line. He skips getting food in favor of sulking in his seat. He thinks back over his options, many of which are now impossible, his list of allies having shriveled with a matter of days.

His glowering is interrupted by a irritatingly familiar voice from behind him.

“Penguin. I need to talk to you.”

“Go away, Riddle-man,” he seethes. “I am not in the mood to deal with you today.”

The threat does nothing to dissuade him. “I’m given by many, too freely some say, but when broken I’m easily taken away. What am I?”

He snaps around, glaring at the other man. “What did I _just_ say?”

“I need you to trust me,” Nygma says, voice full of determination.“You’re right, I don’t have a real plan for escape yet, but I think I’ve found something that you’ll want to hear.”

“Not interested.” Oswald turns away, but Nygma moves in front of him.

“Please, I insist,” he says, motioning to the floor. For the first time, Oswald notices a handful of the other inmates are sitting around in a semicircle on the ground, looking up at the both of them.

“What the hell is this?"

“You’ll see,” Nygma replies sitting down with the others. He pats spot on the ground next to him. “Have a seat.”

He hesitates, but begrudgingly does as he’s asked. Nygma gives him a small, appreciative smile before turning to the others.

“Now that everyone’s here, we can begin. Did you all get the things I asked for.”

Everyone in the group nods. He looks to Sharon first.

“Bobby pins,” he requests, holding out his hand. She reluctantly places a single pin in his hand. “Only one?”

“It’s all I could steal,” she admits.

“It’ll have to do.” He pockets the pin in his shirt. “Rudy did you get the ammonia?”

Rudy hands him a bottle of cleaner. Nygma takes takes it and mists the air, smelling the solution.

“Perfect.” He places the bottle to the side and turns to Norton. “Now we just need the bug zapper.”

Norton pulls out his find, the smile drops from Nygma’s face.

“What is this?”

“It’s a fly swatter.”

“I can see that it’s a fly swatter. I didn’t ask for a fly swatter, I asked for the bug zapper in the kitchen.”

“What’s the difference?”

“The difference,” he hisses, taking the swatter from his hands,“...is that one is a black light that emits ultraviolet energy, and this is leather on a stick."

“They both kill flies,” Norton mutters, grabbing out towards Rudy absentmindedly. Nygma slaps his hand away with the swatter.

“I don’t need to kill flies, I need you to go back to the kitchen and get the bug zapper.”

Norton takes the swatter back, scowling.

“What are you going to do with all this stuff, anyway?” Sharon asks.

Nygma checks around the room for staff before leaning in.

“I think Professor Strange is hiding something, and I think that something is a secret way out of this dump. So I’m going to use this stuff to find it.” He looks back to Norton. “Go get me that bug zapper.”

Norton grumbles, licking the sides of the swatter before crawling away. The others follow soon after, leaving him and Nygma to themselves.

“That’s what you wanted me to know about? A secret passage,“ Oswald snorts, unimpressed. “You really are insane.”

“I understand that you’re angry, but I do not appreciate being called that.” Nygma frowns. “Let’s say you’re given a box with five sides and you place a bird inside. You cover the opening with a lid for some time, and when you take it off, the bird is gone. Where did it go?”

“Why do you need to make everything so difficult? Just say what you mean.” Nygma continues staring at him in expectation. Oswald sighs, relenting. “The only way the bird would be able to leave the box is if one of the sides was fake.”

“Correct,” he grins, giving him a thumbs-up before pointing out past the gate. “There’s a room down at the end of that hallway very much like our hypothetical box. Doctors go in, they don’t come out. Ergo, there must be a secret door hidden in that room.”

“Where does it go?”

“I’m not sure, but I have an idea. Back when Detective Gordon was sent here, one of the patients took him down to an old basement that they hadn’t cleared out yet. I think they might be using it to store their equipment, and if it’s down there, there has to be a way for them to get it there.”

“Why would they go through the trouble of hiding it like that?"

“I don’t know. It’s quite the mystery,” Nygma says, tilting his eyebrows. “Makes you wonder what else Stange is hiding down there.”

Oswald hums. His mind goes back to one Theo Galavan. If he heard correctly, his body was brought to Arkham for medical examination. If the rumors were true, he wonders how much of the body would be left, how else he leave it in further ruin...

“What is it?” Nygma asks.

He doesn’t answer him. “So, how are you going to find this secret entry?”

“Once we’re settled in the rec room, I’ll work the lock and use the black light to find anything leading out of the room. I’ll report back to you if I find anything. As long as you make sure to keep watch, we should be good.”

“You mean _if_ I keep watch,” Oswald corrects.

“I’m not asking much, if something goes wrong, they won’t be able to pin anything on you.”

Oswald considers his offer. It’s true, there’s little he loses in this deal, and his gaze is full of sincerity.

“Fine, I’ll go along with your little plan, but you’ve already burned me once. I won’t be so forgiving a second time.”

“I understand,” he smiles.

“You two!” They turn to see one of the guards pointing down at them. “Back in your seats!”

“I’ll find you later.” Nygma gives one last sign off before they return to the tables.

 

 

 

They’re in the rec center for over an hour before Nygma approaches him again. “Are you ready?”

“Did you get the black light?”

“Right here,” he says, showing him the bug zapper hidden up his sleeve.

“Alright. Let’s do this.”

They walk over to the gate, checking for guards. Nygma takes out the bobby pin, unfolding it.

“It might take awhile to find anything, but I should be back before the dinner switchover. When I get back, I’ll need you to signal if anyone’s coming.”

He pushes his hands through the bars and jiggles the pin into the keyhole. Within a few seconds, the lock clicks open and he slips through the door

“Wish me luck,” he whispers before slinking away and disappearing down the hall. With Nygma gone, Oswald resigns himself to one of the benches.

Time crawls by, leaving him a mixture of boredom and anxiousness. He divides his time between checking the halls and the time, the hands of the clock inching closer. His eyes grow heavy.

Over an hour and a half has passed when he begins to worry. How long could it possibly take to spray down a room? He checks the halls for any sign of of Nygma, but there’s no one coming. He hasn’t seen anyone pass by, certainly not any of the people Nygma had mentioned. Nothing was adding up...

“ _He’s not coming back_.”

“Yes he is. Finding the door is only part of it. He wouldn’t be able to leave without a plan,” he tells himself, although he isn’t assured by his words. His mother is always one to worry, he can’t let her getting him riled up.

“ _And how do you know he doesn’t have a plan_ ? _He uses you to get out of de room_ , _saves himself and leaves you behind_ , _just like de rest of them_.”

He checks the clock again. Nygma said he’d be back before dinner, but there wasn’t much time left. Maybe she was right. Nygma was long gone and he’s still here, looking like a fool. The realization makes him livid.

“That little...” He stops himself and takes a deep breath. “No, I’m worrying to much. He told me it would take time...”

His thoughts are broken by the sound of footsteps, and for a moment his fears are abated. They return soon enough as he realises it isn’t Nygma, nor is it the usual guard. Instead, a woman he hasn’t seen before, dressed in a lab coat followed in by two guards, enters the room. She’s staring right at him.

“Mr. Cobblepot, come with me please.”

“What for?”

The woman doesn’t answer him, motioning for the guards to collect him. He struggles as the guards hold his arms down, dragging him out of the room.

“Let me go,” he yells at them, to no avail.

“Don’t make such a fuss.” She pulls out a syringe filled with a suspicious fluid. “I would hate to have you sedated.”

Oswald doubts she means that, the wicked smile on her face is proof enough of that. He loosens up, allowing the guards to take him down the hall.

 

 

 

Ed’s been spraying the room down for what seems likes hours, covering every inch with the cleaning fluid. He has yet to find anything, but that only strengthens his suspicions. The walls are clean, to the point of obscenity, as though they’d been scrubbed recently. None of the other halls were cleaned so frequently, so why this one?

He’s nearing the end of the wall space when finally, the light catches on a single thumbprint against the metal paneling. He places the blacklight and bottle to the side and kneels over, examining the panel.

With a gentle touch, the entire panel falls over, revealing a keyhole and a single button. He pulls out the pin again and fits it into the hole. He twists the bobby pin between the lock until it finally turns with a click. A low whirring sounds off from behind the wall.

He smiles. _Success._

He presses the button and waits for something to happen. The entire wall panel slides over, revealing a folding gate of an old elevator. Ed freezes in place.

It isn’t empty.

“Mr. Nygma,” Strange remarks. He pushes open the gate and steps out. He’s followed by two guards, one at each side of him. “You should be in the recreation center.”

“Oh crud,” Ed stammers. He drops the bobby pin and lifts his hands in defense. “I wasn’t trying anything, I just got lost,” he pleads. “I’ll go back, or I mean, one of them can take me back if you want. I won’t resist.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Strange responds, voice calm. “As a matter of fact, I was just on my way to collect you.”

Ed looks at him, confused.

“Don’t you remember? You have your weekly assessment today.”

A rush of self-loathing sinks through him as he realizes the mistake. With everything happening between him and Penguin, he must have lost track of the days.

_...You stupid idiot. Of all the things you could have forgotten. Stupid..._

“Are we ready to proceed?”

Ed turns, finding Strange’s assistant walking down the hall with a set of guards and one very perturbed Penguin.

“Ah, Miss Peabody, is our subject ready?”

Penguin looks between Peabody and Strange before locking eyes with Ed. His face twists in rage. “What did you…?” He turns back to Strange. “I assure you I have nothing to do with this! Whatever it is,” he adds.

“No one said you did, Mr. Cobblepot,” Strange says. “There’s no need to worry, your first procedure is scheduled for today.”

Some of that anger slips from his face. “It is?”

Strange nods. “Miss Peabody will escort you to the testing chamber, while Mr. Nygma and I have a little chat.”

The guards pull Ed to the side as the group enters the elevator. He gets one last look of spite from Penguin before Peabody pulls the lever and they sink to the floor below and the wall closes once again.

“I’m sure he can tell you all about it tomorrow,” Strange says, seeing the concerned look on Ed’s face. “If you’d please, come with me.”

 

**.**

**.**

 

Strange closes the door behind him. “Have a seat, Mr. Nygma.”

Ed shuffles over to the desk and sits down in the chair. He waits anxiously as Strange sets up the kettle across the room, sitting down at his desk when he finishes.

“So, let’s talk about your progress this week. I see you got in the middle of another fight, despite my asking you to let it go. What else is there...” He scans over a set of reports.

“You’re not mad,” Ed asks with caution. “...about me being out?”

“That is an issue we’ll have to deal with, yes, but there’s a more concerning matter I’d like to discuss.” He clears the papers from his desk. “Some of the other patients have been complaining about you during my sessions with them. They’ve told me that you’ve been very bossy. A few of them have actually said they believed you might be under the impression you were part of the staff. They even went as far as to suggest that you were trying to mimic me.” He gives Ed a pointed look. “There wouldn’t be any truth to these accusations, would there?”

“No, of course not,” he replies. “I don’t need to rely on rehashing other people’s personalities to get by.”

“There is no shame in being envious, Mr. Nygma. It’s quite natural to respond to the success of others by identifying and utilizing the same resources.”

“I’m not jealous,” Ed insists.

“Is that not why you were snooping around the facility? I know you’ve been curious as to the whereabouts of the others assigned to this program.”

Ed clenches jaw. “Perhaps I was,” he admits. “...but curiosity is not the same as envy.”

“No, it’s not.” Strange sighs. “Have you ever wondered why we haven’t had as many sessions as the others in this program?”

Ed shrugs. “Not really.”

“Come now, a man of your intellect must have noticed.”

Ed tries to maintain his confident attitude, but his mind buzzing with anxiety. In truth, he’s unnerved by how much Strange has managed to deduce from the few times they’ve met.

“It may have crossed my mind, once or or twice,” he says.

“Do you know why?” Ed shakes his head, Strange leans in. “It’s because, Mr. Nygma, you bore me.”

Ed stiffens at the unexpected offense. He didn’t think Strange would ever cross the line from passive aggressive.

“Let me read to you some of the notes I’ve taken from our sessions. I’ve heard you take great pleasure in analyzing your peers, so maybe you’ll find this interesting.” He pulls out a notebook from his desk and adjusts his glasses. “Edward Nygma demonstrates a superiority complex, which may be contributed to a larger personality disorder,” he reads. “His behavior in most settings is generally _unremarkable_ , which contradicts the elevated perception he has conceived for himself, leading to a _misalignment_ in his sense of identity. Therefore, he has developed a proclivity for mimicking others in order to make up for a lack of _unique_ personality.”

He gives Ed time to let the words sink in as he returns the note to his desk.

“Tell me, does that not sound so utterly...mundane?”

Ed’s lip curls ever so slightly, his blood boiling hot with anger. The two men stare back at one another before a low whistling breaks their gaze.

“Ah, the tea’s ready.” Strange walks over to the kettle and begins pouring the contents into a pair of teacups. “How do you drink it? We have sugar and honey, if you’d like.”

“I’m not thirsty,” he replies flatly.

“I insist.” He places the cup in front of him. “You’ll be needing it, soon enough,” he remarks, returning to his seat.

“Well, regardless of the fact that you’re being very rude and unprofessional,” Ed growls,“I have to be honest and say your assessment is wildly inaccurate."

“Well, we’ll certainly see about that, won’t we?” Strange pulls open one of the side drawers and takes out a small, metal tin, and places it next to the cup. “This is for you.”

“Thanks,” Ed sneers. “What is it?”

“Open it and see for yourself.”

He lifts the lid of the tin and looks inside, where he finds a handful of white, unmarked pills.

“You’re giving me medication?”

Strange nods. “The name of it is not important. The contents of this pill are designed to produce a short-term increase in dopamine synthesis by about fifty percent.”

Ed’s eyes widen as realization dawns on him. _But how?! He’d been so careful.._

“I assume someone with your background has some familiarity with the effects of neurotransmitters. Can you think of any reason why I would administer this to you?”

His silence is the only confirmation Strange needs.

“You’ve been hiding something from me, Mr. Nygma, and we cannot have that. I must remind you that your being here depends fully on your cooperation with me. From now on, I expect you to be open with me during our sessions and follow your treatment down to the last order. If you fail to respect my terms, then I will have you sent out to Blackgate. Do you understand me?”

Ed swallows. “Yes.”

“Good, now for today’s session, I want you to take one of your pills. We’ll call it an introduction to your treatment.”

His mind is yelling at him to run, but common sense reminds him that there’s guards outside the door that will catch him. It’s far less dignified to take medication when your strapped down and screaming. Strange watches him as he picks out one of the pills, examining it before slowly placing it in his mouth.

“Bite down for me, we can’t have you hiding it in your cheek.”

Ed hesitates before biting down with a loud crack. A bitter taste washes through his mouth and he resists spitting it out, taking the cup of tea and gulping it down.

“Are you noticing any changes yet? The medication should take effect soon after consumption.”

Ed places his tea back on the desk. The once smooth edges of the cup now look as if they’re melting away, the shape changing like clay in his hands.

“Looks funny,” he says, although the words feel odd and fuzzy in his mouth.

“That’s a normal occurrence, nothing to be worried about.”

The room starts to spin, his eyes flicker. His vision is filled with strange shapes and lights that weren’t there a moment ago.

“Feel warm,” he slurs. He slumps further into his chair, his body feels heavy.

Somewhere distant, he hears Strange’s voice is swimming through his head. “The first induction tends to have a larger scale of effects. This process will become easier over time.” It’s the last thing Ed can comprehend before he closes his eyes and the world blacks out.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There’s a low mumbling around him. Voices, in midst of a conversation. They’re talking, but he can’t understand the words. He tries to grasp onto the sounds, make some sense out of them.

“...given…is pain...misery...And what is it you think you can you offer him?”

“ _Are you really asking that_ ? _Have you seen me, what I can do_ ? _You think he could do that all by himself_ ? _He’s pathetic_.”

He hears his voice, and feels his mouth move, but he isn’t controlling it. The colors of the room seep back into his vision, his body feels less numb.

“What is happening,” he mumbles.

Strange glances at him. “Ah, you’ve regained consciousness. I was just having a little chat with, how did you put it, you’re better half?”

There’s a low chuckling coming from his right. He turns his head to the side and gasps as he finds his double sitting in a chair next to him, more present than he’s ever been. He feels dizzy as his breathing gets harder.

“There’s no need to be alarmed, Mr. Nygma. This is all part of the treatment.”

Ed keeps blinking, waiting for the vision to disappear but it just sneers back at him.

“ _What are doing_ ? _Do you realize how weird you look_ ?” The double chuckles again, turning back to Strange. “ _Don’t mind him_ . _He’s not well versed in being a normal goddamn person_.”

Strange hums. “I’ll admit, you were correct in claiming my analysis was a little off. It seems you don’t have as high of an opinion of yourself as I’d initially thought.”

The double scoffs.

“Since you’re mentally present, can you tell me when you first started seeing this person?”

Ed struggles to find his words. “It was...just voices...at first. I didn’t start seeing things until after...,” he trails off, snapping back and forth between Strange and the double.

“After what,” Strange asks.

“ _Tell him_ ,” the double demands. “ _Tell him about the time we snuffed out that mindless pig_.”

“You’re referring to Tom dougherty,” Strange surmises.

_But how did he hear that...Does he hear the voice too?_

“ _Yes_ ,” the double answers for him, keeping his eyes trained on Ed. “ _After we killed little old Officer Dougherty. Which you couldn’t have even done if it weren’t for me_.”

Ed shrinks back into his seat, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of his face.

“ _You always like to think that it was all you that did it, 'oh look at me mister killer'_ ,” the double mocks. “ _If I hadn’t been there, Dougherty would have beaten you like the bitch you are_.”

The double’s voice grows louder in his head and Ed covers his ears, ducking his head down. He can feel himself simmering down from his high, the natural chill of the room seeping back into his skin made cooler by his sweat.

“ _You’re weak and I made you stronger_ ,” the voice rings through his head. “ _I’ve done everything for you and you can’t even admit it_ ! _You’re nothing without me_ ! _You’re just insane_!”

 _Stupid_ ! _Insane_ ! _Freak_ ! _Retard_ ! _Loser_ ! _Faggot_ ! _Weirdo_ ! _Insane_ ! _Insane_ ! _Insane_!

“Stop! Stop it!”

In an instant the cacophony is gone, the room is silent save for his sobbing breaths.

He looks up slowly. Strange is watching him in pensive silence. He turns to the space next to him and finds nothing.

“He’s gone?”

“Yes, for now at least,” Strange says. “The more of the pills you take over time, the more your mind will begin to associate the two events. In theory, this imaginary friend you’ve conjured may eventually disappear altogether.”

The shock has started to wear off and is replaced by annoyance. “So...that’s it? All I needed to do is take some pills and I’m cured?”

“Oh no, most certainly not,” Strange corrects. “This is only the beginning for you, Mr. Nygma.”

“But if he’s gone then I won’t be able to do anything bad anymore,” he insists.

Strange sighs. “Edward, this isn’t something that you can make go away. This person that talks to you, he’s a part of you that you’ve been ignoring. If you continue to ignore him, your urges will only get stronger.” He stands up from his chair and motions for Ed to do the same. “This medication will not fix you, but it may help you understand your emotions. Until you’ve made peace with yourself, I’m afraid you’re at too high of a risk to be released.” He guides Ed to the door of the office.

Ed takes everything in, unsure of whether he’s feeling disappointment or something else. This wasn’t what he was hoping to get out of today, but at least it was something.

“How long will it take?”

“That will depend entirely on you.” Strange pushes the door open. “This has been a very busy day for you, you’ll need your rest. The staff will see you to your room.”

He hands Ed off to the guards and offers a warm smile.

“See you next week.” The door closes.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How long was Strange standing in that elevator waiting for Ed to find it? That’s for you to decide  
> ¬ ¬


	5. -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for the moment you’ve all been waiting for…or not...probably not, that’s still coming. For now you can have this:

 

 

The morning after his meeting with Strange is a difficult one.

The other inmates have all been hounding him for details, except for Norton who’s already forgotten about the whole thing. He lies, says he didn’t find anything and got caught by one of the guards who took him back to his cell. Sharon and Rudy are disappointed, leaving him alone the rest of the morning, something he’s very appreciative of. He isn’t in the best state of mind to deal with any of them, having been on edge ever since he left Strange’s office. He has yet to receive any punishment for escaping the rec room, and the threat of imminent penance has left him agitated and snappy.

Ed doesn’t see Penguin at breakfast, and he decides it’s for the better. So ready was he to turn on him when Ed had been nothing but kind and helpful, even after he’d been so persistently rude to him. He has only himself to blame, he knows. How many times had he heard that turn-coat’s name brought up at the GCPD? The thought of Penguin alone is enough to rile him up, and he catches himself white knuckled from gripping the cutlery a little too hard more than once during his meal.

The breakfast hour passes by and they’re sent down to group therapy. Once again, the Penguin doesn’t show. The last he’d seen him, he was being sent down through Strange’s hidden elevator for some kind of procedure. Maybe they’re keeping him there permanently, letting him join up with the other test subjects. One could only imagine what kind of things were happening down there that only someone like Penguin was privy to, while Ed was left to rot with general crowd once again. Figures.

They’re doing the stereotypical basket weaving project today, as if to taunt him with the reminder that he’s forever stuck in the looney bin. He tries at first to work the reeds together, but whatever is left of his patience is quickly spent and he throws the craft to the side. The nurses don’t try to attend him, leaving him to sulk. His whole morning has been passing by without any interaction from the staff, despite his less than agreeable attitude.

Lunch passes by, again no Penguin. For the first time that day, Ed finds himself concerned by the other man’s whereabouts. Something isn’t right…

When the lunch hour ends, the inmates are lined up for transfer. Just as he exits the cafeteria, the guard stops him and pulls him from the line.

“Wait here,” he orders, holding Ed in place.

He does as he’s asked. The rest of the inmates are sent down the hall as Miss Peabody walks past them. The guard hands Ed off to the the orderlies accompanying her.

“Mr. Nygma, you’re coming with me.”

He doesn’t protest when he’s shoved down the hallways. The path they take isn’t one that he recognizes. They aren’t heading towards Strange or any of the other facilities he knows of.

“What’s going on?”

“Given your attempt at escaping yesterday, you’ve lost all privileges from the recreation center. Until further notice, you are restricted from afternoon recess and will remain in your room until the evening meal.” She glances back at him. “You didn’t expect to go unpunished did you?”

He looks around. “But…my cell isn’t on this block.”

She smiles. “Yes it is. You’ve been permanently transferred to secondary confinement.”

Secondary confinement, that meant he’d be sharing his cell with another inmate. Now understanding the punishment that’s been laid out before him, the agitation is replaced with dread. He just hopes it isn’t someone like Stirk again, the stress he endured last time at facing an angry cannibal has already taken years off his life. He can’t bare it again.

A few turns later and they’re stopped in front of a new cell. The guard pulls the door open and pushes him inside. His belongings have already been placed on one of the beds, the other being occupied by his new cellmate. He stills at the sight before him. It isn’t Stirk, but rather Penguin, lying fast asleep on the opposing cot.

“Why is _he_ here?”

“You didn’t seem too happy with your last roommate. We figured you’d be better suited with this one.”

Ed glares at her. She knows exactly what she’s doing. He hears it in her pompous voice, sees it on her smug face.

“I suggest you two try to get along. This isn’t a temporary switch like the last time, so you’ll be seeing plenty of each other.”

She steps outside the cell and the door is slammed shut and locked. Ed continues to glare at the door, long after the echoing footsteps have disappeared, before he turns back to his unconscious cellmate. Whatever it was they did to him yesterday, it had him knocked out pretty good. He hadn’t so much as twitched the entire time he’s been there.

Ed stands over Penguin, staring down at him. He’s less angry-looking when he’s asleep, much more calm... And helpless.

No, that would be too easy and he knows it wouldn’t be as satisfying as the conversation he’s already planned for them when he wakes. He wants him fully conscious for this.

So he refrains from doing anything rash, and he sits down on his bed and waits.

 

**.**

**.**

 

Oswald had picked out the location of his criminal base long before he had even heard Fish Mooney was taking applications to be her umbrella boy. The mansion is built in the same style as many of Gotham’s older buildings, regal, imposing, something fit for the King of Gotham.

He sits in his throne, overlooking the empty dining room. The light of a fire bounces off the dark walls shining patterns off the slate walls. A shadow moves towards the back of the room, but he doesn’t have the time to investigate.

“Eat your goulash,” his mother says from her seat across the table.

He peers into the bowl placed before him. It isn’t the recipe she usually makes. The meat is green with rot and the vegetables are molding. The broth ripples as though there’s something small swimming around in it.

“I don’t think I want to,” he replies.

“Oh, but you must. So you can grow big and strong.” She pouts. “I spent all day making it just right for you.”

He hesitates for a moment, but does as she asks, dipping his spoon into the meal as she watches on in anticipation.

The acrid taste is just as bad as it smells. Gooey chunks slosh around in his mouth, before he can finally muster the courage to swallow it. The stew slides down his throat with an unsettling stickiness.

“Delicious as always,” he lies, tears prickling the corners of his eyes. He wipes the remains from the corners of his mouth, desperate to rid himself of the sludgy mess.

“That’s my boy.” His mother is pleased, so he knows it’s worth it.

A crashing sound from the kitchen draws his attention.

“What was that?”

He peers into the darkness, waiting for any sign of movement, but there’s nothing.

“Oswald…”

When he turns his attentions back to his mother, Tabitha Galavan is standing behind her chair. In an instant, Tabitha pulls the chair back, knocking her to the ground. His mother screams as Tabitha pulls out a knife.

He tries to run after them, but a pair of hands pull him back into his seat. When he twists his head around, the culprit is staring down at him with a vicious smile.

“Riddle-man?!” He struggles against Nygma’s iron grasp, to no avail. “Let me go!”

“No can do, Mr. Penguin,” he giggles.

“Oswald, please,” his mother pleads as Tabitha drags her away by her long hair.

A pair of straps wind around his wrists as what was once his throne is now replaced by a wooden medical chair. The fire shines brighter and brighter until the room explodes with the blinding white of artificial light. He’s no longer at the mansion, but in a laboratory surrounded by machines.

Overseeing the room is a thin window. When he looks hard enough, he can make out the faces of Strange, Butch, and Zsasz, all laughing at him from behind the glass. He wants to curse them out, but Nygma has fit a wooden gag in his mouth before he can.

As soon as he’s finished tying Oswald up, Nygma skips over to the opposite side of the room, where Miss Peabody is holding a metallic headpiece attached to a machine by wires. She walks over to him, placing the device over his head and then returns to the setup. She flicks one of the switches on the machine, sending a hum of electricity through the wires, before placing her hand on the knob.

She gives him one last look of amusement before turning the knob as far as it will go and-

Oswald jolts up from the cot, voice in mid-scream. He’s no longer tied up to the chair, but sitting atop his bed, light streaming in from the single window shining over the room.

“Oh thank God. It was only a dream,” he says, laughing to himself in relief. He’s back, safe in his cell, except... no, that isn’t right. The room looks different than before. He glances around and jumps in his seat as he finds Nygma glowering at him from the cot across the room.

“Wh-what are you doing here?

“This is my cell, or should I say our cell,” he replies, sullenly. “It seems we’re sharing the same punishment.”

“Punishment,” Oswald repeats.

“For trying to escape yesterday.”

 _Was that yesterday?_ His mind is foggy, the events of the last few days evade him.

Nygma catches on quickly. “You don’t remember?”

“No, I do, but it feels like that was much longer ago.”

“Is there anything you can remember from being down there? What was it like?”

“Not all of it, bits and pieces.” He concentrates hard and sifts out memories from dreams. “They set me up with this weird headgear and all these wires and…” He trails off.

“...And then? What did they do then?”

An image flashes through his mind.

“I saw… I saw Nigel,” he shudders. “His eyes were gone.”

One by one, pieces of his memory return to him. The images that appear in his mind don’t make any sense, things that can’t be real. People with the wrong limbs in the wrong places. Sounds that no human being can make.

“Oh my God.”

“What did you see,” Nygma asks incessantly.

Oswald rest his head against his hands in shock. “There were all these people, these monsters!”

Nygma stands in alarm. “How were the monstrous,” he asks.

“What?”

“Well, are we talking extra limbs or…”

“Extra limbs, wings, scaly skin, the whole lot. It was a freakshow."

“Interesting, and was it all surgical modification or did it seem congenital?”

“I don’t know!” He rocks back and forth on the cot as the memories flood in, each one worse than before.

Nygma considers the information and paces in thought, unaffected by Oswald’s predicament. “So, Professor Strange is making monsters in the basement. Fascinating.”

“I need to get out of here,” Oswald mutters to himself. “I can’t go back down there, I won’t. They’re going to turn me into one of those things, I know it. I don’t want to become another one of those freaks-“

“Yes, I get it.” Nygma rolls his eyes. “There’s no need to brag.”

Oswald stares at him incredulously. “Brag?! Were you listening to a word I said,” he shouts, but Nygma doesn’t pay him any attention. Oswald scoffs. “No, of course you don’t care, it’s your fault I was there in the first place.”

Nygma stops and gives him an odd look. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t think I don’t remember seeing you with Strange. You sold me out, that’s why they came after me.”

“That’s a strong accusation from someone that _did_ sell me out,” Nygma contends, voice laced with bitterness.

“Only because you did it first,”Oswald argues. “That was your plan the whole time, wasn’t it? You were going to tell Strange that the whole thing was my idea so that he’d send me down there, and let me take the brunt of it while you played it safe.”

Nygma laughs off the accusation. “...And let you get all the credit for my work? Please, as if they’d believe you could come up with a better plan than me.”

“It’s not that far of a stretch. Between the two of us, my plans have actually played out the way I wanted.”

Nygma just laughs again, although this time it comes with more of a sinister edge. “They were right about you, you’re a paranoid nutjob. No wonder it was so easy to run you out of the city.”

“What the hell did you just say?”

“You wanted to know what I thought of you, right,” Nygma asks with a sour tone. “Well here it is. You’re nothing but a spoiled brat that throws a tantrum whenever he doesn’t get what he wants.”

“Shut up,” Oswald snarls, but it does little to deter him.

“You think you’re the king of Gotham, but you’re not anywhere close to that. The people that worked for you may have feared you, but don’t hold any of their respect, that much is obvious. When Falcone left the scene, there were many of those that remained loyal to him. There’s no one out there that hasn’t already moved on from you. They were all just waiting for you to slip up so that they could be done with you. You’re not a king, you’re just the court jester wearing someone else’s crown.”

Oswald grinds his teeth. Had anyone dared to talk to him like this a only few months ago, he’d have skinned them alive. He stands up from his bed so he can look Nygma in the eye.

“As long as we’re being honest here, I’ll have you know that you have been nothing but a jittery loser since I first met you. Maybe I am a bit ambitious, but at least I’m not a hopeless fool like you. You think that you can murder some guy and that makes you toughest criminal on the street, you don’t have the stomach to live the life I’ve led. If had been born in my shoes, you’d have been dead by now!”

He relishes in the look of disdain smeared across Nygma’s face.

“And newsflash,” he adds with a manic smile,”...you are not as smart as you like to think you are!” He points out past the door. “You had everyone of those people out there under your thumb. You could have used them to help you get out of here, but you didn’t, because you don’t have what it takes to manipulate people and you’ll never have what it takes to be a real criminal, Riddle-man!”

“Stop calling me that!"

He doesn’t have time to react before Nygma charges him, slamming him hard into the stone wall. The sudden impact leaves him disoriented and there’s little he’s able to do as Nygma wraps his hands around his neck and squeezes. He tries getting a punch in, but the angle is odd and the force of it is too weak. He resorts to kicking into him, hoping he’ll back away or maybe lose his balance.

“You’re right, I should have thought of that when I had the chance,” Nygma growls between breaths. “Then again, you didn’t make any mention of it til now, so I guess that makes us pretty even. If I’m as hopeless as you say, then what use are you to me?”

Oswald’s face heats up and it feels as though his head will explode any second now, his eyes stinging with clotted blood. The thrashing does little to make the other man budge. All he’s done is exhausted what little oxygen he had to begin with. He decides to change tactics and instead attempts to pull Nygma’s hands from his neck, but his grip is sealed tight.

“I don’t need other people to kill you. I mean, what are you without your big, scary henchmen to help,” Nygma hisses into his ear. “You’re just a sad, lame little man, that no one would miss. I could do it right here if I wanted, right now.”

Oswald feels his limbs giving up on him. Tiny dots speckle his vision. He loses sight of the room around him as his eyes roll back into his head.

Just as he’s sure he’s done for, Nygma loosens his grasp.

“But I won’t,” he says.

Oswald slumps to the floor as his neck is released, coughing heavily. Nygma stands over him, watching him gasp for air.

“If I kill you, they’ll keep me here forever, and I won’t ever see Kristen again,” he explains. “You’re not worth it.” He leaves Oswald lying on the floor to catch his breath, pulling out one of the books from the pile next to his cot and sitting on the bed.

“...And for the record, I wasn’t going to rat you out. I’m not like you, Penguin.”

He pays no mind as Oswald picks himself off the floor, giving him a dirty look before laying down on his own cot to rest his sore body in silence.

 

**.**

**.**

 

“ _Before we end this meeting, I must ask you about your plans for Penguin. Are you going to use him for reanimation?_ ”

“That won’t be necessary, I plan on keeping Mr. Cobblepot alive. We’ve started a regimen involving immersive aversion therapy. He’s recuperating from his first trial as we speak.”

“ _You’re wasting our time with these little side projects of yours, Strange_ ,” Catherine says, voice filled with annoyance.

“With all due respect, madame, the asylum itself doesn’t have a good reputation. Oswald Cobblepot is a well known name among Gotham’s citizens and his treatment will be under more scrutiny from reporters and the police. I think it’d be best if we used him for public relations rather than as one of our test subjects. If you didn’t want me to deal with this, you should have picked a better location.”

“ _Oh, please, as if you aren’t taking full advantage as the Chief of Psychiatry_ ,” she sighs. “ _Very well, you may continue your project with Penguin, but we expect you to start switching over to the real project soon. We’ve supplied you with enough subjects and resources, get those results, Strange_.“

“I understand.”

Strange clicks off the television screen, Catherine’s masked image fading away. His meetings with the Court have grown tense ever since Thomas’s death, their trust in him and his projects under careful supervision. At Pinewood, they gave him the freedom to venture out with his subjects, testing the boundaries of biology from many different angles. Compared to that, his current work at Indian Hill was more rigid, higher expectations with less room to experiment.

His benefactors are growing impatient with him, something that the world of science has little care for.  How could they expect something as revolutionary as reanimation if they refused to give him the time to perfect the procedure? If his research is successful, maybe they’ll finally offer him a seat at the table, then he can really give them a piece of his mind.

The creaking of the door draws his attention.

“Did you need something, Miss Peabody?”

“Mr. Nygma has attempted to strangle Mr. Cobblepot.”

That is somewhat distressing. “Did you or any of the staff interfere?”

“No, we made sure to let them resolve the issue on their own, just as you asked.”

“Good. When did this happen?”

“About an hour ago, I didn’t want to interrupt your meeting.”

“Have there been any other instances of violence between them other than the first?”

“No. They haven’t interacted with one another since then.”

“Excellent,” Strange smiles. At least he’s made some kind of progress today. “How has Mr. Cobblepot responded to the treatment so far?”

“We have yet to see any docility from him. Right now the only noteworthy emotional states he’s shown are confusion and mild paranoia.”

“I see.” It’s not the immediate result they’d been hoping for, but it’s nothing unexpected. “We’ll continue working with him to see if he makes any progress.”

“I would ask that you try not to get too distracted by your toys and focus your attention back on him.”

Strange raises a brow to his assistant. “I assure you Miss Peabody, Mr. Nygma’s wellbeing is the least of my concerns. Treating him won’t take up too much of my time, and I have a higher purpose for him. Besides, it’s always good to exercise the mind before working with the real patients.”

She looks at him with a dubious expression. She’s never been as invested as him in the patients themselves, but as long as she takes pleasure in watching them squirm, she’ll do as he asks. That’s what he’s always liked about her.

“Are you certain keeping the two of them together was a wise decision,” she asks. “It’s only been a few hours and Nygma’s almost killed him already.”

“Almost is all I need to work with.”

 

**.**

**.**

 

Oswald absentmindedly rubs against his sore neck. The skin has raised from where Nygma had squeezed the hardest, there will be a bruise for sure.

He’s still reeling from what happened between them. Normally when Oswald pushed his buttons he would just shut down and go silent for a few minutes. The very idea that he’d been sent to Arkham for murder had been laughable. He’s never seen the guy that angry before. What changed? Had the obnoxious peppiness been an act the whole time?

He should be planning some sort of revenge for him, but right now he’s too exhausted from everything that’s happened over the last week. Nygma was right, before he’d been at Arkham, none of the others had respected him the way they had Falcone, Maroni or Fish. Everyone had left him behind after he’d gotten rid of Galavan, choosing to follow Butch over himself. Even Zsasz, the most loyal of all his companions, had abandoned him. In Arkham, he was next to nothing, another face among the crazies, and now he has the threat of mutilation by the hands of those doctors needling through his mind.

He begrudgingly admits to himself that Nygma really is his only hope for getting out of Arkham. If there’s anything he needs to be doing right now, it’s talking things out with him. He’ll finish coming up with his plan, and when he does, he’ll take Oswald with him. He just needs to get back on his good side, a little groveling will take care of that. He’s done it before, he can do it again.

He glances over at Nygma. He’s been sitting on his bed reading for the past few hours. Whatever it was that had gotten into him before, it doesn’t seem to be there anymore. The angry wrinkles around his eyes have smoothed away and his mouth has relaxed from scowling. Now’s as good a time as any to talk with him.

“Nygma.” There’s no answer. “You and I need to talk. Are you listening?”

Again, no response. Oswald sighs, annoyed.

“You don’t have to say anything, just hear me out. Whether we like it or not, you and I are stuck together, so we might as well tolerate each other’s presence while we’re here. Just because we got caught doesn’t mean we can’t figure another way out of this place.”

The man continues to ignore him, Oswald rolls his eyes.

“Alright, yes, I’ll admit I made a mistake in thinking you were going to betray me. I let my nerves get the better of me and I made a poor choice of words. I’m not used to having people around me that I can actually trust.”

He catches a small twitch at the corner of Nygma’s mouth. That’s good, at least he knows he’s paying attention now. All he needs is a little praise to seal the deal. If he knows anything about Nygma, it’s that the man craves it like water in a desert.

“You aren’t the kind of person to give up after a little setback,” he continues.“I heard how you were talking earlier, when you were asking me all those questions. You’re still cooking up some sort of plan for getting out of here, and I want in. If you let me come with you, I’ll help you in whatever way you need from me, and I won’t complain about it either,” he adds.

Nygma isn’t reading anymore, looking straight ahead in thought. He shuts the book, placing it to the side of his bed before facing him.

“It takes a war to make me and another to break me. What am I?”

A riddle, of course. Oswald is quiet, thinking the words over, until he comes up with the answer.

“A truce.”

Nygma gives him a thumbs up. “Correct. But...” He pulls himself up and hangs his legs over the mattress so that he and Oswald are facing each other. “...I have some conditions.”

“Okay,” Oswald concedes. “Let’s hear them.”

“First of all, don’t call me Riddle-man ever again.”

Oswald nods. “Alright, that’s simple enough. What should I call you?”

“How about my _name_ ,” he snaps.

Oswald nods, but panics as he realizes he doesn’t remember what it is. Nygma narrows his eyes, as if reading his mind.

“Ed,” he growls.

“Right, Ed, of course. Ed Nygma, enigma. Can’t forget that,” he chuckles nervously, although Nygma seems less than amused by it. “Ed it is, and I guess as long as we’re on a first name basis, you can call me Oswald.”

“Oswald,” Ed agrees, testing the word in his mouth. “Secondly, I don’t appreciate you talking badly about me.“

Oswald’s initial urge is to respond by telling him to stop making it so damn easy, but he resists. “Understood, I’ll refrain from any offensive remarks.”

“Thank you. For my last condition, I want assurance from you that I’ll have a position in your gang when we get out of here. Something of note too, not one of those henchmen you have sitting around for show.”

Oswald smirks. As if he’d ever let this freak join his ranks. Maybe Oswald is insane after all, but be that the case, he doesn’t have room to let anyone else’s madness to get in his way. He’s not going to say that of course, he’s going to say yes. A man of honor might hold to the promises he makes, but the world isn’t made by honorable men. It’s made by those that understand that words are cheap.

“Fair enough,” he agrees. “I’m sure I can find something for you.”

Ed looks pleased by the agreement, no surprise. Oswald’s a negotiator, it’s what he does best.

“Then I suppose we have a deal.” He stretches his arm out for a handshake.

This time, Oswald takes his hand and gives it a firm shake.

“Any chance you can let me in on your scheme?”

“In time perhaps,” Ed responds. “I’m not feeling like talking all that much.”

That’s not the answer he wanted but it’ll have to do for now. He doesn’t want to vex him anymore than he already has, and getting him to agree is enough for him.

The rest of the night passes by with unnatural calmness. They leave each other alone for the most part. Dinner is a much quieter affair than it was before, with Ed no longer battering him with questions. The secondary confinement wing as fewer occupied cells, making the nighttimes quieter.

Contrary to the fact that he was almost strangled by the man not a few hours earlier, having Ed in the room with him doesn’t put him on edge. He’s never had someone admit that they _aren’t_ going to kill him. It’s an oddly comforting thought. For the first time since he arrived, Oswald falls asleep in the comfort of his own bed.

He doesn’t dream that night.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ed and Oswald sharing a cell? Who could have foreseen this :>
> 
> After reevaluating my outline, I’ve had to add an extra chapter in order to help the story flow a bit better, so the next update might take a little longer that usual.


	6. -

 

 

“How are you getting along with Mr. Cobblepot?”

“Well enough.”

“He didn’t seem so friendly with you last week. Are you sure everything’s alright?”

_What is the point of this? It’s not like he’d separate them if he’d said no..._

“It’s been taken care of.”

Strange smiles. “That’s good. What shall we discuss this week?” He pulls out a few files from Ed’s profile folder. “Why don’t we start with why you’re here.”

Ed tries to decipher what Strange is talking about. Why he was here...because he tried to escape? Because he was having hallucinations and let it slip?

“The murder of Tom Dougherty,” Strange supplies for him.

“Oh that, right. What do you want to know?”

“Do you regret it?”

“Didn’t you read my statement?”

“I did.”

“So, you know I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Strange chuckles. “I think we both know a man on the verge of imprisonment will say anything to save himself. Taking oath before a courtroom may convince a God fearing man, but you don’t take me as the sort.”

Ed narrows his eyes. “What’s this about? Are you trying to get me to confess to something?”

“Yes, in a way, but not the sort of confession that would have any legal repercussions. I just want you to be open with yourself. You’re free to speak honestly with me, I’m under legal obligation to keep these sessions confidential.”

“Well I’m telling you I regret it, so I’d like to move on please,” Ed says.

“I do grow impatient with this resistance you have to progress,” Strange bites. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Edward. This process is meant to help you to understand your emotions, and for that you need to be open and honest with me. If I can’t get that from you, I’m sure your other half would be more than happy to oblige. If I sense any dishonesty, any lack of certainty from you, or what you tell me just isn’t adding up, you’ll have to take one of your pills. So I’ll ask you again, do you regret it?”

“...No.”

“I didn’t think so,” he replies. “Tell me why not.”

“How can I regret something that meant so little to everyone else?”

“Well now, I’d say he meant something to quite a few people. You made a lot of enemies at the department with your little stint.”

“Superficial nonsense,” Ed scoffs. “The rest of the force was fine with thinking he’d gone on to another town, and I know Miss Kringle was happy about it, even if she was a little sad at first. They didn’t care that he was dead, they just cared that I was the one that did it.”

Strange hums. “Interesting, we’ll have to come back to that another time. Why did you want him dead in the first place?”

“I didn’t. He may have been an obnoxious, disrespectful clown, but I just wanted him out of my life. The night everything happened, I’d been waiting for him in front of Miss Kringle’s house so that I could tell him to leave, but he just laughed at me."

“Did you really believe he’d do as you asked?”

“No,” Ed admits. “...but it was better than standing by and letting him get away with the things he’d done.”

“If you knew that he wouldn’t listen to you, how did you expect to keep him from ‘getting away with it’,” Strange asks.

“I don’t know, I just knew I had to do something.” It was the only time he’d ever let passion guide him without coming up with a plan, a work of pure impulse, the first and last time he would make that mistake.

“If you hadn’t meant any harm for Officer Dougherty, why did you have your knife with you?”

“Dougherty had threatened me somewhat in the past. I thought having a knife with me might keep him from making any moves. I didn’t expect him to go straight to violence that quickly.”

“So, knowing full well that an argument would ensue, you decided to bring a knife with you,” Strange raises a brow to him. “...and then once he was dead, you wrote a note.”

 _Of course he had to bring up the note..._ “I did, yes,” he sniffs.

“A note in which you’d conveniently left your name in for Kristen Kringle to find.”

“That’s right.”

“...and you’re saying you had no intention of killing Officer Dougherty that night.”

“I didn’t want him dead,” Ed insists. “I just wanted him out of Miss Kringle’s life so that he’d stop hurting her.”

Strange considers his answer. “Alright.” He reaches into his desk and pulls out the pill tin, placing it in front of him.

Ed looks at the box with dismay. “I’m not lying,” he whines.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Strange retorts, watching him expectantly.

Ed’s face pinches into a scowl. “Fine.”

He pulls one of the pills out of the tin and shoves it in his mouth.

 

**.**

**.**

 

“Duck...duck...duck…”

They’re sitting around one another in a circle as Marvin passes each of them by for the fifth time in a row. Out of all the proposed activities the nurses had set up for Group, this is probably the most humiliating, in Ed’s opinion.

Oswald is sitting in the chair to the left of him, staring off across the room, his eyes lifeless and dull. They’d both been pulled out just before breakfast, each of them attending their separate therapy sessions. Unlike Ed’s weekly check ups with Strange, Oswald’s sessions happen every other morning, leaving him in a daze long after he’s finished.

He breaks from his trance a little earlier than usual today, blinking several times before rubbing his eyes. It’s as if he’d been woken from a deep sleep rather than sitting quietly for the past hour.

“Where…?”

“Goose!”

Oswald jumps at the sudden contact as Marvin taps him on the shoulder. “What’s happening,” he asks, looking around at the others.

“You’re supposed to chase me,” Marvin explains. “You’re the goose.”

“Goose,” Oswald mumbles. “Golden goose...Honk honk.”

Some of the others in the circle start giggling and honking, but Miss Peabody shushes them.

“Is there a problem,” she asks.

“He’s not being the goose,” Marvin cries. Oswald looks between him and Peabody, trying to find understanding.

“It’s fun to participate in Group, Mr. Cobblepot. You should try.”

His eyes widen. “Yes,” he stammers. “Yes, I’d be glad to. What is it they want me to do?”

“Be the goose,” she answers.

Oswald stands from his seat and begins flapping his arms slowly, looking to Peabody for affirmation.

“That’s very good, but what he wants is for you to chase him,” Peabody says, amused by the display.

Oswald nods and starts hobbling after Marvin, who giggles as he runs away for the other man to catch him. The two of them circle around the chairs until Marvin makes it back and sits down in Oswald’s seat.

“Very good Marv, and Mr. Cobblepot, now you-“

Oswald ignores Peabody’s instructions and yanks Marvin from the chair. He lets out a distressed wail as Oswald pushes him to the ground and pins him to the floor. Peabody calls for the guards, who tear him off from his whimpering prey. Oswald thrashes in their grasp as one of the men sticks a needle into his neck. Despite the sedative, he still has a few moments to kick at their legs before his body falls lax. The guards look back to Peabody, who sighs.

“Take him to the medical wing,” she tells them, voice laced with disappointment.

Ed watches Oswald being dragged away with only a mild interest. It’s the third time this week that he’s attacked another inmate, although this was the first time he’d done so with such little provocation. His first two victims had exhibited the standard rudeness as the majority of Arkham’s guest, it made more sense that Oswald would choose to strike out, but Marvin was a minor annoyance compared to them. Today’s incident had been less like an impulsive retribution, and more akin to a predator running off the pure instinct to kill.

Peabody turns back to the group. “I’m sorry Marv, it looks like you’ll have to pick someone else.”

He looks at the others with reluctance. Peabody gives him a look, he nods and returns to circling as Oswald’s chair is taken away.

“Duck...duck...duck...”

 

 

There’s no reason for Oswald to be in the infirmary. The guards hadn’t roughed him up that badly, and he’d taken worse beatings without having to run off to some medic. In all honesty, he suspects the only reason Peabody had him sent here was an excuse for him to miss lunch, passive punishment.

The doctor goes through her standard checks, heart rate, breathing, mouth and ears. She pauses when she examines his eyes and asks him to stand in front of a vision chart.

“Cover your left eye and read down to the eighth line.”

He does as he’s asked, reading the sign perfectly down to the last letter.

“Okay, same thing, other eye.”

When he covers his right eye, there’s an immediate difference in his vision. The whole room is fuzzier and certain areas are smeared into abnormal patterns. He’s able to read down to the fourth line when he gives up.

“That’s what I thought,” she says, but doesn’t elaborate. She shines her otoscope into his left eye. “Mr. Cobblepot, when you were being sedated, did you feel any of the guards hit you in the face?”

“I don’t think so, why,” he asks, squinting from the brightness.

“It appears you have a subconjunctival hemorrhage in one of your eyes,” she says, turning the light off. “...but it shouldn’t be anything to worry about. They usually go away after a few days.”

Oswald gives her a puzzled look. “Subcon-what?”

She hands him a small mirror. “See for yourself.”

He takes the mirror and looks at his reflection, the first time he’s done so in months. His face has gotten more pale and thin than he last remembered, and his eyes look hollow and bruised. Looking closer at them, he spots something odd, a patch of deep red congealed just below the iris of his left eye.

“What the hell, why is it there,” he thinks out loud.

The doctor shrugs. “There are a number of ways eye hemorrhages can form, high blood pressure, choking, sneezing or coughing too hard...”

One particular word stands out in Oswald’s mind, and suddenly he becomes very much aware of how it happened...But that had been a week ago, had it it really been there all this time without him knowing? He hadn’t had access to a mirror in quite some time, and it wasn’t as if Ed had said anything about it. No, he wouldn’t say anything, he was probably proud of it, the smug bastard.

“Is something wrong,” she asks.

“Well, I was just going to ask you that,” he says, electing not to expound on the dealings between him and his cellmate. “Is this going to be a problem?”

She shakes her head. “Like I said, you should be fine soon enough. If it persists, I’ll take another look at it, but you can go back with the others for now.”

With that, the guards lead Oswald back to secondary confinement. As they near the cell, the sound of staticky advertisements echoes through the corridor. He lets out an annoyed huff. Ed always plays the radio after lunch when the Gotham Radio Trivia Show comes on.

Sure enough, when they reach the room, Ed has the radio on and his face in a book he’s probably read a billion times over by now.

“I’m back,” he announces as the guards lock the door behind him. Ed hums, but doesn’t seem to care that much over Oswald’s presence. He sits down on his bed. “Surprise, surprise, I’m completely fine.”

He considers asking Ed about his eye, but decides not to bring it up. He already knows how it happened, and he doesn’t need to give him the satisfaction of bringing it up.

The radio commercials end and are replaced with the station’s theme tune.

“ _Welcome back Quiz Kids_ ,” the announcer’s voice blares through the speaker. “ _We’re here with our special guest, Casey from Cherry Hill. Once again, the theme of today’s Super quiz is All About Animals._ ” An obnoxious mix of animal calls sounds off. “ _Casey, you’ve made it all the way to the final four questions. If you get all four of them right, you’ll move on to the Master Quiz with our other champions. Are you ready?_ ”

“ _Yes_ ,” comes the enthusiastic response of a child calling into the station.

“ _Alright, first question: what is the term given to animals that can live both on land and in the water?_ ”

Ed doesn’t even look up from his book. “Amphibious,” he answers first, as he always does. The kid on the radio answers the same soon after, and is met with enthusiasm from the host.

“That was easy,” Oswald comments.

“The questions are picked at random, not all of them are tough,” Ed remarks.

“ _Second question, this bird lays its eggs in the nests of other species, wherein the offspring hatches and knocks the other eggs out: What is the name of that bird?_ ”

“That’s the cuckoo, isn’t it,” Oswald asks before Ed can say anything.

Ed glances at him. “Yes,” he replies. Oswald doesn’t miss the hint of irritation in his voice.

“ _That’s correct! Third question, which animal is the only marsupial found in North America?_ “

“Opossum.”

They both turn to look at one another, having answered at the same time.

Oswald offers a small smile, squinting his eyes in challenge. Ed’s eyebrow quirks behind his glasses. They keep their eyes on each other as the host announces the final round.

“ _Alright Casey, we are down to the last question! For today’s final round, we’ll be playing…_ ” There’s a drumroll, accompanied by the sound of a wheel spinning. “ _...One of a Kind!_ _Here’s your final question, Casey, which of the following animals is the least related to the others: a dingo, a hyena, a wolf, or a bear?_ ”

“Bear,” Oswald answers quickly.

Ed smirks. “Hyena.”

“ _Ummm, is it the bear_ ,” the kid asks. It’s followed by the sad hum of a slide whistle.

“ _Ooohh, sorry but that is incorrect. The correct answer was the hyena, but don’t you worry because you still won a-_ ” Ed flicks off the radio with a smug smile.

Oswald grimaces. “How does that make any sense?”

“The question was asking about their phylogeny. Canines and bears are all part of the same superfamily of carnivora, whereas hyenas are part of another,” Ed answers. “They’re more closely related to cats than they are to any of the others.”

Oswald shrugs. “I still think they’re more like dogs than cats,” he grumbles.

“It’s not an uncommon mistake,” Ed says. “They may share a common ancestor, but they’re hardly feline. Plenty of cultures think of them as they would wild dogs. Some tribes in even believe that there are people that can transform into hyenas, similar to werewolves.”

Oswald snorts. “What are you, some kind of zoologist?”

Ed shoots him a glare. “I believe we agreed to stop with the insults.”

“It wasn’t an insult, I was just asking a question,” Oswald retorts. “You didn’t say I couldn’t ask questions.”

Ed glowers to himself, but can’t refute his claim, and instead returns to staring into his book. Oswald smiles, satisfied at his little triumph.

“Really though, why do you know so much about that stuff. It’s not like you needed it for your job.”

“I’m allowed to be interested in things, aren’t I,” Ed snaps.

“Okay, sure. No need to get so defensive,” Oswald says. In the first week following their fight, the initial anger he’d gotten from Ed had worn away. They weren’t quite the same as they had been before, but he’d thought the maliciousness wouldn’t be as much of an issue between them. It seems he was wrong, how annoying. “I just wanted to know.”

Ed gives him a suspicious glance. “Why,” he asks.

“Why not? I mean you’ve been asking to join my gang for a while now, but I can’t take on someone if I don’t know anything about them. I figure since we’re gonna be stuck together, I might as well use the time.”

Ed silent for a time. He’s no longer reading the book, just fiddling with the pages. Oswald’s about ready to give up on the conversation when he finally speaks.

“I used to study animals in grade school. At the end of the year, our class had a field trip to the Gotham Zoo. I wanted to know all about them so I’d be prepared for when we got there.”

“You wanted to show off didn’t you,” Oswald says, knowingly. Ed gives him a small smile in affirmation. “...And how’d that turn out, were they amazed by your infinite knowledge?”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t go.”

“Why not,” Oswald frowns.

“All of the students had to pay a fee to go, and my family had too many kids, so…” He shrugs it off.

“That’s bullshit,” Oswald sighs. “I had a field trip like that where we all had to pay to go see some play, except what the school was charging was actually more than the ticket price. Five extra dollars going straight into the principal’s pockets. My mother threw a fit when she found out, but none of the other parents really cared about it. She ended up pulling me from class that day and taking me herself.”

Ed smiles. “That’s nice of her.”

“Did you ever get to go to the zoo?”

“I’ve gone a few times actually,” he says, but there’s no joy in his face.

“You didn’t like it?”

“I did, and it’s a great place, but it just didn’t feel…” He pauses for a moment. “I don’t know how to explain it. I don’t think going alone is the same as getting to go with everyone else.”

He doesn’t say it, but Oswald is perfectly aware of what he’s saying. He remembers the days following the trip, when all of his classmates reminisced with one another. He remembers the friendships that he would never take part in, inside jokes he would never understand.

“No, I guess it isn’t.”

 

**.**

**.**

 

The days in Arkham creep by at an agonizing pace, even more so without any access to the rec room.

There aren’t many things Oswald can do to navigate his boredom. He hadn’t brought any of his possessions when he’d been sent to Arkham. There weren’t many things he owned that held such sentimental value, and those that did were not meant to be kept in a place like this.

Ed’s side is not quite as lacking, but what he does have is pristinely organized, with small pile of books stashed beneath his bed alongside his old stereo. The walls are barren, except for a photograph he’s taped up next to him.

Today, he finds himself staring endlessly at the woman in the polaroid. She looks snazzy, like something straight out of a fashion magazine from the fifties.

“Is that what’s-her-face? Kirsten?”

“It’s _Kristen_ , and yes.”

“She’s pretty. I’m guessing she got a lot of attention.“

Ed smiles at her memory. “She had a lot of suitors, yes, but there aren’t many men at the GCPD that deserved her attention.”

“And you did?”

Ed shrugs. “I tried to, it took a while before I found the right time to ask her out. She really didn’t like me at first.”

“Is that so.” Oswald tries his best not to sound unsurprised.

“Yeah, she was actually kind of mean to me, but I knew it wasn’t her fault,” he explains. “Everyone else at the GCPD thought I was a freak, so what else was she left to think? I always knew that she was better than them, even if she didn’t know it herself. Once I got her away from them it was so easy for her to open up with me, and when she realized I wasn’t the person they’d made me out to be, she really liked me,” he says, a slight blush tingeing his face. “We even kissed on our first date.”

“Oh? You must have really wowed her.”

“It was nothing special, I invited her over and cooked dinner for the two of us. It wasn’t like she had much else to compare with,” Ed admits. “She’d had a few boyfriends before me, and they all treated her like dirt.”

“Lucky her, having a guy like you to sweep her off her feet.”

It’s easy for him to imagine the two of them together, baking cookies in some little house out in the country with a white picket fence. Maybe they’d have a kid or two along the way. A simple, quiet life to themselves.

 _But you don’t need a lover for that_ , _Leibchen_ , _you have your mama_.

Ed’s voice draws him out of his thoughts. “What about you?”

“What _about_ me?”

“You didn’t leave anyone behind when you came here?”

Oswald sighs and shakes his head. “There was this one person I was interested in, a friend of sorts. I had hoped that we might become more than that someday, but nothing ever happened between us.”

“Did you tell them how you felt?”

“No, but I always knew they never felt the same way. Besides, they already had someone else filling that void in their life.”

Ed winces. “That’s unfortunate.”

Oswald hums. “Though it’s probably for the best. You tend to make a lot of enemies doing what I do. Loved ones are always the first at risk.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Ed replies quietly. It’s probably among the many things he hadn’t considered when he’d approached Oswald. His girlfriend stuck in the line of fire, all because of him. Oswald can see the visions of that perfect life slipping away in the other man’s face.

It was a mistake that Oswald hadn’t the luxury of learning before it was too late, a lesson he learned with his mother. No, he didn’t need to feel that ever again.

“Well, congratulations on finding love and whatnot.”

“Thank you,” Ed says. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t blame you for how you felt. I remember when Gordon first came to the department, he had everyone’s attention, especially the ladies. He’s just so likable, even I believed we were friends before I realized what he really thought about me.”

Oswald pales, hardly listening as Ed rambles on. “Excuse me?”

“Detective Gordon,” Ed clarifies. “Is that not who you were talking about? I remember you used to help him out back when you worked for Falcone...”

Oswald’s face heats up. “That is none of your business,” he snaps. He regrets his impulsive retort immediately as the truth is now plain to see.

Ed smirks knowingly. “Well, if we are in fact talking about him, then I’d say you dodged a bullet with that one. Detective Gordon is the only true and honest cop in the entire department. He’d never agree to join forces with a criminal such as yourself.”

Despite his embarrassment, Oswald finds it in him to chuckle at the other man’s ignorance. “If that’s your honest opinion of him, then you don’t know Jim Gordon nearly as well as you think you do.”

He leaves Ed to ponder over his statement, settling back into the silence. He hasn’t let his mind wander over to Jim in a while, it does him no good to think over what could never happen...But not everything is a lost cause. Now that Jim has seen the lengths at which he’s gone to protect him, maybe he’ll finally understand. Maybe he’ll even agree to help him get rid of Butch, if only to regain some control over the criminal scene. They can finally be _real_ friends.

He sighs to himself. He knows it’s silly of him to hope things will be different between them by the end of this, but it’s all he has left now.

 

**.**

**.**

 

“What can you tell me about Tom Dougherty?”

“ _What’s there to say about him_ , _he was a waste of space that talked to much_.”

“When did you decide you were going to kill him?”

Ed chuckles. “ _If I had to pick an exact moment_ , _and let me assure you there were many of them_ , _probably_ _from the first time I met him_ , _when he thought he could stump me with such an asinine riddle_. _Well_ , _it wasn’t really decided_ _per say_ , _but the thought was there_. _I knew how much he wanted it , but he just didn’t know how through with it_. _So_ , _when the time came_ , _I helped him out a bit_. _It took a little improvising_ , _but we figured it out eventually_.”

“Do you regret it, now that it’s led you here?”

“ _The only thing I regret is letting that dumbass tell_ her _about it_ .” He shakes his head. “ _He should have just let me do the talking_ , _I could have gotten her on our side, I know it_ ... _But no_ , _he had to go and make us look like some kind of perverted stalker_.”

“If you were hoping to tell her on your own, then why did you give her the note for her to figure out?”

“ _Oh that was just a bit of fun_ . _I wasn’t even sure if she would see it at all_.”

“...But you were hoping for it.”

“ _Well_ , _obviously_.”

“So, did you want her to figure it out or not?”

“ _Finding my name in the note didn’t mean I’d done anything_ , _it was easy enough to convince her it was just a coincidence_ . _I just wanted to see if she could do it_.”

“Ah, so it wasn’t meant as a confession, it was a test.”

Ed nods. “ _I needed to know_ …,” he trails off.

“Know what?”

“ _That she was worth it_.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’m trying my best at writing this out, but in case it’s confusing, I’ll explain.  
> The first and last parts of this chapter are a single therapy session in split into two different scenes. It makes sense to myself as I’m writing it, but I’m not sure if it reads as well, so I just wanted to make that clear since the next few chapters are written in a similar format. 
> 
> Also, we are now halfway through Part 1 \o/  
> Thanks to everyone who’s read, commented and left kudos up to this point.
> 
> In case you're wondering what a subconjunctival hemorrhage looks like, click [here](http://www.eyedoctom.net/images/EyePics/SubconjHemm.jpg) (warning: blood)


	7. -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one week til Gotham returns! Can't wait to see Ed visiting Oswald in Arham ;-)
> 
> Warning: This chapter contains references to child abuse and other dark themes.

 

 

“Let’s talk about your family.”

“There’s not much for me to say. I haven’t seen any of them in a while.”

“I went through some of the older files, the ones from before you’d changed your name. It took me quite some time to get my hands on them, Mr. Nashton.”

Ed knows Strange means to intimidate him, but it won’t work. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t expected Strange to learn about his old name, it was simple enough to find with a little digging. He’d learned to move past it a long time ago, hearing it again means nothing.

“Based off your birth certificate, you’re a far ways away from home. Why don’t we start with when you came to Gotham in the first place.”

Ed relaxes into his chair. “My dad died when I was three in some kind of work accident. I don’t remember him much, so it’s never been an issue for me,” he says. “A few years after it happened, I moved in with my dad’s brother and his family. They live just outside town. Or did, at least. I liked the new town better than the last one, so that was nice.”

“How did you get along with your family?”

“Fine, I guess.”

“Did you make any new friends after the move?”

“Making friends is a skill that requires the desire to befriend people in the first place. The kids in the neighborhood weren’t exactly the type of people I desired as companions. They weren’t interested in me, and I wasn’t interested in them. I’d rather be alone than have to deal with their rudeness everyday.”

“You must have been rather lonely being an only child in a new town.”

“Not really, I had plenty of cousins. They were all older than me, so they had to take me with them to make sure I didn’t cause trouble.”

“Did you consider any of them to be your friends?”

Ed shrugs.

“Loneliness is more than a lack of company,” Strange explains. “We look to others for entertainment and companionship, yes, but they also serve as a reflection of ourselves. In them, we understand who we are from a perspective other than our own. Without that, we are left to internalize the faults we see in ourselves, and that leaves us feeling trapped and alone, our fears and self loathing consume us.”

Ed contemplates his words. “A reflection...And who is it you see yourself in, professor,” he asks, cocking his head.

He doesn’t miss the way Strange shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “I believe we’re talking about you, Mr. Nygma.”

Ed smiles, glad he’s managed to strike a nerve. It seems he isn’t the only one lacking in that department.

“Tell me about this uncle of yours, what was he like?”

“My uncle was the traditional type, you got a job, you got a wife, you had kids. He had two different wives in the past, but he’d given up on that sort of thing by the time I was there. He ended up becoming an accountant, and we were all going to be the same.”

“You didn’t,” Strange observes.

“Nope, just another disappointment to add to his life.”

“Law enforcement isn’t a terrible career choice, many people would find it honorable of you to take such a position.”

“Maybe, but that’s not what he cared about. He thought that I was trying to shame him by doing everything differently, that I thought his life wasn’t good enough for me.”

“Were you?”

“Yes,” he admits, a small smirk on his face.

Strange sifts through the folder and pulls out a set of police reports. “Were you ever assaulted during the time you were living with them? I have several reports here of complaints made by your neighbors regarding domestic disturbances, although there wasn’t any formal investigation conducted.”

“My cousins pushed me around, but that’s just how they were. They weren’t the most well-mannered bunch of people. We fought sometimes, but every family does that, don’t they?”

“Did the fights ever get physical?”

“Sometimes. I didn’t have much going for me, so if there was trouble, I’d usually just hide away until it blew over.”

“How often would it happen?”

Ed bites his lip. “I tried my best to be good and stick to the rules, but bad things tend to happen around me. People make mistakes every now and again, I make a lot more of them.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed that. You received quite a few reprimands from your supervisors when you were at the GCPD,” he says, indicating one of the reports. “What happened to you when you made these mistakes?”

“It’s pretty straightforward. You do something bad, you’d get punished for it.”

“Did your uncle beat you?”

Ed doesn’t need to say anything, he knows Strange has already figured that much out. He probably wants to hear Ed say it out loud, see him break down into pieces, but he won’t. He still has some of his dignity left, after everything that’s happened.

Strange must have taken the hint, for once, because he drops the subject and moves on.

“You sought emancipation when you were sixteen. Why?”

“It got old seeing the same people and places every day, I wanted to see more, go to the city. So, one night, I just decided to leave. It wasn’t hard getting the paperwork done, he signed off on it soon enough.”

Strange squints. “This isn’t the kind of decision one makes on a whim. What happened that made you want to leave?”

“I’m not sure,” Ed says. “I didn’t think on it too much, I just did it.”

“You’re not sure or you don’t remember?”

Ed swallows. He’s always prided himself on having excellent memory, and yet there have always been parts of his life missing. He can remember what he’d had for breakfast that morning, what they were learning about in class that day, he can even remember the exact bus number that drove him into the city, yet the exact moment when he decided to leave eludes him.

“I don’t know.”

Strange takes the admission as his cue to retrieve the pill box from his desk. “Given what you’ve told me so far, I can only assume your lack of memory is due to some kind of repression on your part. I’d like to explore this further.”

Ed eyes the box. “What if I don’t want to remember? Maybe I don’t need to know why I left.”

“Repression as a coping mechanism is only a temporary solution,” Strange explains, opening the tin. “If you want to understand yourself, then you must have everything at your disposal, including the things you may not have wanted to happen.”

Ed slowly picks one of the pills from the tin and looks to Strange for affirmation.

“In time, you’ll come to understand that this is the right decision,” Strange ensures.

He looks the pill once over before placing it in his mouth and biting down.

 

**.**

**.**

 

Being in secondary confinement has been much more pleasant the second time around for Ed. It’s still boring as all hell, and he and Oswald do still have their moments of anger every now and again, but overall, they’ve developed something of a camaraderie between each other. They’ve returned to having the small chats they’d become accustomed to when Oswald first arrived, which is far better than being threatened with cannibalism day and night.

“Don’t you ever get tired of reading the same damn books over and over again,” Oswald asks him one night after they’ve returned from dinner.

Ed looks up. “Yes, but it’s better than staring at the walls all day, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Oswald waves him off and returns to doing just that. “How many times have you read that one,” he asks, referring to the book in Ed’s hands.

“About eleven, give or take,” Ed answers.

“Isn’t there anything else for you to do? What about your girlfriend, don’t the two of you ever write to one another.”

Ed gives him a wry smile. “I’ve sent her a few letters, but they were all sent back to me,” he says. “We didn’t part on the best of terms.”

“Oh. I guess not. Being imprisoned for murder is kind of a deal breaker.”

Ed shakes his head. “This was before I went to trial,” he says. “The officer I killed was Miss Kringle’s previous boyfriend. He used to beat up on her, I was hoping she would be glad to know he wouldn’t be bothering her anymore. She didn’t take my confession the way I’d hoped.”

Oswald furrows his brows, clicking the pieces together in his mind.

“Is she the one that turned you over to the police?”

“Yes.”

“Wait a minute,” Oswald laughs dryly. “You’re telling me this woman you’ve going on about all this time is the reason you’re here in the first place?”

“No, the reason I’m here is because I was too impulsive and didn’t explain myself correctly. It isn’t her fault, I’m the one that messed everything up,” Ed insists. “I was trying to calm her down, but I didn’t realize how hard I was gripping her and she thought I was trying to choke her.”

Oswald looks at him with a dubious expression. “Were you?”

“No,” Ed growls. “I would _never_ hurt Miss Kringle.”

“Okay,” Oswald says, raising his hands in defense. “...But if she isn’t happy with you, what’re you going to do when you see her again?”

“I’ve thought it over a few times,” Ed says.“I’ll find her and take her back to my old apartment, and I’ll cook her dinner. She always said she liked my cooking.”

“So, your plan...is to kidnap her,” Oswald says slowly.

“No, it’s not kidnapping,” Ed rolls his eyes. “It’s sitting down for a simple conversation. I’ll explain to her that I didn’t mean to scare her or hurt her, and that I only had her interests in mind. Once she understands that, we can start working our way back to how things were before.”

Oswald is quiet for a moment. “What if she doesn’t ever understand,” he asks. “Maybe she’ll reject you even after you’ve explained yourself.”

Ed swallows. “If that's how it is, then I don’t care. I’ll still love her no matter what she decides.” Even though he says that, he knows that won’t happen. Kristen is smart, and very understanding, she’ll come around eventually.

“If that’s the case, I guess I can’t stop you,” Oswald shrugs.“Life only gives you one true love, so when you find it, run to it.”

Ed blinks. “That’s strangely romantic of you.”

“It’s something my mother always used to say,” Oswald explains.

“She sounds like a wise woman,” Ed says with a smile. “I can imagine she loved your father very much.”

“Maybe. He died when I was a baby, so I can’t say for sure.”

“My dad died when I was young, too. I don’t know if my mom really loved him like that, she moved on to another guy pretty quickly.”

“So, you don’t agree?“

“No, I do,” Ed insists. “I think it’s possible to feel love for many people, but I believe that there is a different kind of love that transcends all others, the type of love that stays with you long after that person is gone.”

Oswald snorts. “You really think that, do you?”

“I know so, I’ve seen it myself.”

Oswald leans against his hand. “Do enlighten me.”

Ed sits back against the wall, his mind wandering back to his childhood.

“Most of the men my mom dated, I didn’t really know much about them, they never stayed around long...But then there was this one guy that she really liked. He had a good job, moved us into a better house, really took care of us. It was nice for a while, but as much as he loved her, he hated me, thought I was a bad kid that he was wasting his time on.

“One day he got really angry and started going at me,” he continues. “I don’t remember why, I think I might have broken something, but it made my mom mad and they had a huge fight. When they were done yelling, he told her that either I would have to go, or she would be going with me. That night my mom woke me up and told me we were leaving. She didn’t tell me why, but I knew, looking back, that that was the last time I’d ever see that place.

“We spent the whole night driving until we reached my uncle’s house. My whole life I’d lived out in the middle of nowhere, so going somewhere new with that many people was exciting. Their house was nice and big, they even had a Commodore I spent the whole day playing on, and that night we all gathered around the table and my mom cooked for all of us. It’s one of the few times that I was actually happy being with my family,” he admits. “I think it’s probably one of the best days of my life.”

“My mother left her family behind when she came here. I’ve never had the pleasure of a big family meal,” Oswald smiles.“It sounds nice.”

Ed nods. “The next morning, when I woke up, she was gone.”

The smile slips from Oswald’s face.

“I can’t imagine how she must have felt, going back to him, but I know how much he meant to her,” Ed sighs. “It takes a lot of determination to do what she did, but at the end of the day, we were both living in better places. She really is one of the strongest people I know.” He smiles to himself. “That’s the kind of love I want, where someone is willing to give up everything they have, if need be, to make it work. Maybe Kristen isn’t ready to go that far yet, but I know I am. Dougherty, Flass, they would never sacrifice themselves for her, I understand why she has her reservations. If I can just get her to understand that such a thing is possible, and show her that I’m capable of giving her the love she needs, maybe then she’ll be able to do the same for me.”

When he turns back to Oswald, he’s staring at him, eyes wide in shock.

“I’ll be honest, that’s not where I was expecting you to go with that story.”

Ed frowns. Oswald pulls the covers over himself.

“Well, thank you for that unbelievably depressing take on true love. I’m going to bed.”

“What are you talking about,” Ed asks. “My mother found true love and sacrificed everything she had to keep it. How is that depressing, if anything it’s admirable.”

“ _Admirable_ ,” Oswald laughs, but there’s no humor behind it. “Do you even know if she stayed with this guy after she dumped you?”

Ed doesn’t have an answer for him. He grinds his teeth, his face settling into a scowl.

“Love is about sacrifice. It’s about putting someone else needs and happiness before your own. My mother sent me away because she loved him, but knew that I wouldn’t have been happy there. She wouldn’t have done that if she didn’t care about me.”

Oswald shakes his head. “Yeah, whatever gets you to sleep at night,” he mumbles. “Speaking of which.” He rolls over onto the bed, facing the wall.

Ed resigns himself to his book, still seething with anger. What does he know? Oswald would give up anyone to save his own skin. He just doesn’t understand what true love is.

He loosens his grip on the pages, which have crumpled under the pressure of his fingers.

It doesn’t matter, because Ed knows what it means to really love another person. For all he cares, Oswald doesn’t have to understand.

 

**.**

**.**

 

Oswald runs his hands through his hair, slicking the back of it up into his characteristic tuft. Being a fugitive following Galavan’s victory party, he hadn’t had the luxury of styling himself as he once had. His moping over his appearance must have been getting out of hand because Ed had all but thrown a can of hair gel at him a few days ago.

“You’ve gotten that down to a science, it seems,“ Ed comments from across the room.

“My hair’s always been kind of hard to manage. I used to get made fun of for it, some snot nosed brat asking me every day if I even knew what a comb was.” He rolls his bangs into a few spiky strands across his eyes. “I say, if you can’t change it, perfect it.“

“Agreed.”

“Although, I will probably have to get a new wardrobe for myself. I bet Butch burned all of my old clothes when he took the mansion.”

Ed hums. “Anything else on your list for when we ditch this place?”

“Yeah, first thing I’m doing is getting some actual food to eat,” he says.

“Same here,” Ed chuckles. “I never thought I’d miss take-out.”

“If there’s one meal I’ve missed the most is goulash,” Oswald says, memories of his mother flooding his mind once again.

“There’s a restaurant a few blocks from the station that serves it, maybe you should try it out.”

Oswald shakes his head. “I don’t just want any goulash. Nothing beats my mother’s recipe, it’s been passed down generations, all the way from Hungary.”

“When we’re out of here, I’ll have to try it out.”

Oswald grates his teeth. It’s pretty presumptuous of Ed to assume he would invite him to his table for dinner, but what else is new?

“I don’t think I’d do it justice. She tried to teach me once, but I always mix the spices wrong.”

Ed waves him off. “That’s not a problem. I like cooking, it’ll be fun to figure out.”

“Really,” Oswald insists.”I do miss it, but it’s more than just a meal for me. My mother didn’t leave much behind, but this is one of the few things of her’s I can treasure.”

“Well if some stew is all you have left to remember her, I can’t imagine she was all that interesting,” Ed laughs.

Oswald turns around. “What the hell did you just say?”

Ed scoffs. “Oh come on, Ozzie, it was a joke.”

“Well it wasn’t funny,” Oswald fumes,”...and don’t call me that.”

“Or what,” Ed chuckles, a dark edge in his voice. It’s then that Oswald realizes how closely the other man is standing to him. He tries to move aside, but he’s blocked in as Ed slams a fist into the wall next to him.“What’re you gonna do about it, Ozzie?”

He tries to punch him, but Ed grabs onto his arm. His hand burns the skin of his wrist like acid. “Let me go!” He struggles in Ed’s iron grasp as he laughs, squeezing harder.

A flash of darkness passes behind Oswald’s vision. There’s a thud as something heavy is swung against the man’s head. Ed manages a short gasp before he falls against the floor. His mother stands in front of him with a metal pipe in her hands, panting heavily. She drops the weapon and tends to him.

“Oh, my poor Oswald. Did he hurt you?” She places something sharp and cold in his hands. “I told you he would be trouble for us. Let’s get rid of him and get you out of this awful place.”

Oswald glances down at the shiv and places it on the bed bedside him. He stares at the man lying unconscious before him. “I don’t understand what happened. I thought everything was fine between us.”

“What do you expect. He attack you before, he does it again.” She brushes the hair from his eyes and plants a small kiss against his forehead. “Slit his throat and get it over with. Quickly, before he wakes up again.”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Oswald,” she says, watching him intensely. She pressed the shiv back into his hands. “Kill him.”

He stares back at her, stunned by the urgency in her voice. The sudden shift in Ed’s behavior, the necessity to kill him, it wasn’t making any sense. There were pieces missing. What wasn’t she telling him?

“Something’s wrong isn’t it?”

She doesn’t say anything, still waiting for him to kill his cellmate. She jumps as he throws the knife against the ground.

“I’m not doing anything until you tell me what’s going on,” he tells her through gritted teeth.

She stares at him in dismay. It isn’t like him to refuse her, but there are greater matters at stake, and he needs answers.

“Mother please, just tell me what’s happening,” he begs, but she doesn’t look at him, her eyes downcast and her face full of anger.

“Fine, be dat way,” she says, voice cracking, and walks towards the door of the cell.

“Where are you doing,” he asks.

She pushes the door open with abnormal strength, breaking the lock as she does so, and turns to give him one last look of disappointment.

“I want you stay here and think about what you’ve done,” she says sternly. “You can come out when you’ve learned how to respect your mama.”

“Wait!” He’s almost reached the door before it’s slammed in his face.

 

 

 Oswald’s eyes flutter open. The room is dark, it’s still the middle of the night. He groans and rolls over, facing the rest of the room. Ed’s turned away from him so he can’t see his face.

“Ed,” he whispers into the darkness. “Are you asleep?”

“...A question no honest man can answer with ‘yes’.”

“What?”

Ed turns over. “I’m awake, what is it?”

Oswald sighs. “It’s nothing, I just can’t sleep.”

“...Okay,” Ed says after a moment, unsure of what to do with this information.

“I’ve been having these awful dreams lately, I don’t know what to make of them,” Oswald explains. “Did you ever learn about dream theory or anything like that?"

Ed shakes his head. “I’ve never looked into it, I don’t usually have dreams,” he says.

“Good for you,” Oswald mumbles. “They’re more trouble than they’re worth.”

There’s silence as Oswald tries his best to fall back asleep, but nothing comes of it. After a few moments, he quiet is broken by a low and breathy mumbling from Ed. It takes a moment for him to figure out he’s listening to Ed humming some kind of lullaby. When he catches on to the notes, he realizes the melody is a familiar one.

“What are you doing,” he asks, turning around on the bed.

Ed pauses. “Listening to rhythmic song is known to lower the heart rate and relax the body, eventually leading to sleep,” he says. “I don’t know, I thought I’d give it a try.”

Oswald furrows his brows. “That song, how do you know it?”

“It was something I had on one of my old records. My mom used to play it sometimes before I went to bed. It’s called _My Mother Looks Over Me_.”

“I know what it’s called,” Oswald says quietly. “My mother used to sing it to me every night.”

Ed watches Oswald. “I can bring tears to your eyes and resurrect the dead, I form in an instant and last a lifetime. I can sing the rest of it if you’d like,” he suggests.

There were many memories held within that song, soothing hugs after he’d come home with tears streaming down his face. That song was special, a reminder of the love he and his mother shared. It was one of the few things he had left of her. No one can take that away from him, he won’t let that happen.

A burst of rage flows through his body.

“I don’t need you to sing for me,” he sneers. “Don’t do it again.” He throws his sheet over himself and rolls over away from Ed.

“Alright, sorry I asked,” he hears as Ed shuffles back under the covers, and the anger is gone as he realizes that there was no harm meant by the suggestion.

He takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. He knows he’s always had a short temper, but ever since starting his treatment, it feels like whatever was left of his already short fuse has been cut in half. There are time where he finds his patience with Ed growing thin, but with the other inmates, it’s practically nonexistent. He can’t help but wonder what’s happening to him, they were supposed to be making him less violent after all, but at least he’s still human.

His mind drifts off until he once again finds sleep. As luck would have it, the dreams don’t return on this night.

 

**.**

**.**

 

“What happened the night you left,” Strange asks again.

“ _My uncle and I_ , _we had a fight_.”

“From what you’ve already told me, it sounds like there were many fights. What makes this one different?”

“ _To be honest_ , _it wasn’t much different at all_ . _Everytime time he started something he would get drunk and talk shit to me_ , _you get used to it after a while_ , _but this time he said some things I really didn’t like_.”

“What things would that be?”

“ _He told that he was my real father_ ,” Ed twitches. “ _...that my mom was a whore that should have aborted me when she had the chance. He said his brother was a miserable piece of shit that let everyone walk all over him and that I was going to end up the same_.”

“That’s quite the revelation. How did you feel?”

“ _I don’t know_ ,” he admits. “ _It was weird_ . _There was some anger_ , _of course_ , _but mostly I didn’t feel anything at all_.”

Strange tilts his head. “Did you believe him?”

“ _The evidence was there_. _Mom didn’t work during the day_ , _and in the evening_ _there was always someone new in the house that would be joining us for dinner_. _Every night, she would send me to bed and start playing some of her music to lull me to sleep_. _Usually_ , _I would just fall asleep_ , _but there were times_ , _when the record skipped_ , _that I would_... _hear things_.”

He doesn't elaborate, the words alone taste sour in his mouth.

“ _Did he fuck my mom_ , _probably_ . _I was never able to get a genetic test done_ , _but knowing how he got when he was drunk_ , _I doubt he was lying when he said it_ . _So yes_ , _I believe him_.”

“I’m glad that you’ve been able to accept this on your own, but that’s not what I was referring to,” Strange clarifies. “Did you agree with what he said about you? Do you think you’re going to be the same person your father was?”

Ed’s fists clench around the handles of the chair.

“ _That man was a forgettable hack that no one cared about once he was dead and buried_ . _I couldn’t even be bothered to remember his name if anyone asked_ ,” he seethes. “... _And my father_ , _the real one_ , _was a pathetic_ , _alcoholic failure of a man that could only stop hating himself when I was there for him to hate more_ .” He relaxes his grip. “ _No Professor_ , _I’m not going to end up like either of those clowns_ , _I’ll make damn sure of that_.”

Strange gives him time to settle down before they continue.

“So, after the exchange, you decided to leave.”

“ _I stabbed him first_ ,” Ed says. Strange looks taken aback by the confession. “ _Scissors in the arm, nothing lethal_ . _It pissed him off more than anything_ , _but he got a couple hits on me first_ , _so I’d say we’re even_.”

“You didn’t leave, you ran away,” Strange concludes.

“ _It was either that or have my ass handed to me_.”

“Am I correct to assume that was that last time you saw him,” Strange asks, and Ed nods. “If he was here with you, in this room, what would you do?”

Ed takes a moment to consider the question.

“ _If there was anything left for me to say_ , _I would tell him that even now_ , _as I sit in this wretched dump you call a hospital_ , _I’ve still succeeded more than he ever could have dreamed_ .  _I’ve had my name printed in the papers_ , _and it isn’t even the one we shared_ . _I might not be the most respectable person in this town_ , _but compared to me_ , _he’s nobody_ . _Less than nothing_.”

Strange nods. “I admit, you’ve surprised me, Mr. Nygma. I would have expected you to suggest something more along the lines of having him dead.”

  
Ed’s lips quirk into a small smile. “ _I see you haven’t read too far into my files_ . _If you had_ , _you’d have known he already took care that for me_.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My schedule has gotten busier so I won’t be able to get the next chapter up as quickly as the last few.
> 
> Next chapter will bring the story back into the regular timeline.


	8. -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains descriptive violence.

 

 

“How is his behavior lately,” Strange asks his assistant as they watch Cobblepot thrash about in his chair from behind a safe wall of glass.

Peabody sighs. “Same as usual.”

“Appetite?”

“Low but I’m not concerned.”

Strange hums. “I’m curious to see how he responds to adverse stimuli. Let’s move on to the ice cream test.”

She turns to him, face full of doubt. “I don’t think we’re ready to proceed just yet.”

“Oh absolutely not, but I’d like to see what he does, anyways.” He turns to walk out of the lab. “When he comes to, take him to the cafeteria. I’ll find you after my meeting.”

“If I may, I believe that there are more important matters to attend to first,” she says. Strange glances back at her, annoyed. They’ve had this discussion too many times, now. “I only ask that you remain focused on your more pressing subjects.”

“I am,” he replies smoothly, and heads back towards his office.

 

 

“Let’s talk more about your work today. You got in trouble quite a number of times for contaminating evidence.”

“Dr. Guerra was terrible at his job, everyone knew it. The answers were so obvious, I couldn’t help myself.”

“Then why not become a medical examiner yourself?”

“I wanted to be out at the scene, working with the detectives. You can’t do that when you’re stuck in a lab all day,” Ed sighs. “Bureaucracy is so stifling.”

“Agreed,” Strange remarks. “I few weeks ago, you mentioned something about your coworkers being concerned with his murder only because it was you that had committed it. Elaborate,” he commands.

“No one at the department liked me. Gordon, Essen, Thompkins, they might have tolerated me, but they never liked me,” Ed explains. “I’m not stupid. I know how they all see me.”

“...And how would that be?”

“Weak, annoying, an obnoxious loser that just likes to recite riddles all day, can’t even go a full sentence without-”

“Yes, yes I think I see what you’re saying,” Strange interrupts. “You seem very upset by this, why are you so bothered by what they think of you?”

“You don’t think being universally disliked is more than a little bothersome,” Ed asks bluntly.

“Only when it comes from those that matter. Didn’t you say that you weren’t looking for friendship,” Strange asks.

He can see where this conversation is going from a mile away. He takes a deep breath.

“That was the truth, I didn’t want friendship,” Ed says. “...But I did try, i tried with those kids, I tried when I was at college, and I tried again at the GCPD. No matter what I did, everyone thought of me the same way. It made me feel better to think that it was my decision and that they weren’t good enough for me, but that wasn’t the case. I wasn’t the one who chose not to have friends, it was them that that didn’t want me as a friend.”

Strange cocks his head. He probably wasn’t expecting him to be so forthcoming with his flaws.

“When you think back over the last year, do you see this change you’ve made as a good thing?” He’s looking at him differently now, his gaze more scrutinizing than before. He needs to choose his words wisely.

“In some ways, yes. I can’t deny that I’ve had a lot more success with socializing,” he admits. “...But I also think a lot of bad has come out of it too. I see now that in the process of making myself greater, I have caused pain to others, and I regret that.”

Strange nods. “Very good Mr. Nygma,” he smiles. “It’s refreshing to finally talk to the real you.”

 

**.**

**.**

 

Ed’s mind hums steadily as the orderlies guide him down the hall. His meeting with Strange had gone better than he’d thought it would, he didn’t even so much as take out the pill box this time. It took him a few tries to figure out, but now he understands the rules to Strange’s game. He wants to see him humbled and ashamed of himself, well he can give him that. If he keeps this up, he might not ever have to take one of those wretched things ever again.

He feels different from how he usually does following these meetings. Often times when he comes to, he’s irritated and uncomfortably aware of himself. There is nothing irritant about him now. Instead he feels calm and confident, proud of what he’s managed to achieve today. His other half doesn’t talk to him anymore, but every so often he feels him tugging at the back of his mind. Even now he feels that part of him screaming to let him share his piece, but now he knows how to refuse.

It’s a sensation he’s finally found a name for, control...And it feels good.

Arkham sounds busier today. The sound of footsteps echoes through the halls alongside the usual buzzing and shrieking.

“Ed!”

A familiar voice stops him dead in his tracks. He turns his gaze to find Jim Gordon striding towards him, and all of a sudden, that puissance he’d been feeling is gone. He instinctively looks down at his feet.

“Hello, Detective Gordon.“

Gordon gives a nod to the orderlies, and they release Ed’s arms, giving them a small amount of privacy.

“I was thinking I’d find you here,” he says, his voice casual, as if the last few months have been the as normal as ever. “How’ve you been?”

“G-good, fine,” he stutters. It’s humiliating to feel himself returning to such a pathetic state in an instant of seeing Gordon again. “I mean, well enough for being stuck in an insane asylum,” he laughs dryly.

Gordon nods. “Yeah, sorry.” It’s followed by an uncomfortable silence.

“...And everything’s going well with you,” Ed asks.

“Yeah, yeah.” He shifts awkwardly. It isn’t a planned confrontation, he probably just noticed Ed passing by and decided to talk to him out of pity. Another nail in the coffin carrying whatever is left of his pride.

Ed clears his throat. “May I ask why you’re here, detective?”

“We have a witness that requires medical attention, but we can’t treat them in any of the hospitals.”

Ed blinks, curious. “Why not?”

Gordon hesitates. “It’s complicated,” he says plainly. It’s the type of response you’d hear them give reporters, clean and cryptic. Even after working together for nearly a year, Ed still holds little worth to him. Every development he’s made so far has been self-serving. He might be making progress, but it doesn’t mean anything to Gordon. All he sees is the same pathetic weirdo that murdered another police officer.

Still, it could be worse. He can handle Gordon’s pity, at least it isn’t...

“Well, well, look who it is.”

Ed sighs inwardly.

“Detective Bullock, hello,” he says with a fake smile.

Bullock regards him with insufferable glee. “I’m digging the stripes,” he says snidely. “It’s a good look for you Nygma, feels right.”

“Thank you,” Ed responds sarcastically, although it doesn’t seem to register as such.

“...And look at that, they still let you do your hair all nicely. That ain't too bad. Tell me, do they take you all out back and hose you down or do you freaks get one of those communal showers?” he leans in. “Hope you have a strong grip on the soap.”

Gordon bumps him hard in the shoulder. “Harv, quit it,” he scolds.

Ed bristles at the offense. Aside from Bullock’s obscene suggestion, his mind wraps itself in knots around the insult.  

“I don’t like being called names, detective,” he hisses. His retort surprises them, as mild as it may be. It’s a bold move for him. Even so, Bullock isn’t intimidated.

He chuckles. “Take it easy, Ed, I was just-”

There’s a sudden crashing from down the hall, followed by shouting.

Gordon’s brows furrow. “The hell was that?” He and Bullock head towards the commotion, and Ed follows after them, despite the orderlies attempts to restrain him.

They find the source of the noise in the cafeteria. The inmates are pushed towards the walls, watching the standoff taking place in the center of the room. Toward one end, Helzinger is circling around like a bull ready to charge. On the other side is Oswald, staring at him with malice, a vanilla glob dripping from his hands.

“Sweet mother, is that Penguin,” Bullock asks.

From the other side of the gate, Ed sees Peabody watching on. She makes no moves to stop the inevitable fight.

“You want the ice cream,” Oswald growls at his opponent. “Then you can have it!” He throws the ball, successfully hitting Helzinger in the face. He lets out an enraged howl, and Oswald does much the same.

“Damn, looks like the guy’s gone full banana sandwich in here,” Ed hears Bullock remark. His eyes are trained on the scene before him as HElzinger throws himself full-force.

Oswald manages to sidestep the charge, sending him running into the wall of anxious inmates. Helzinger tries again to catch the smaller man, but he is clumsy in his attempts, the dessert dribbling down his face blocks his vision. He trips over the legs of the tables and falls to the floor. Oswald, ever the opportunist, uses that to pin him down and start throwing punches, yelling violently between hits.

“Take!” Slam. “The!” Slam. “Ice!” Slam. “Cream!”

Oswald is vicious in his assault, but to a man such as Helzinger, there is little power in the blows. It’s far too easy for him to throw the other man off of him and flip their positions. As soon as he has Oswald pinned to the ground, he rains down his own set of hard punches. Even when he holds up his arms to cover himself, there’s no way for Oswald to defend himself from the onslaught.

Ed is frozen in place, the sound of sickeningly wet punches the only thing his mind registers. It occurs to him that he could be watching Oswald die, right then and there.

“Guards,” a voice calls out.

For the first time, the guards seem to take notice of the brawl happening before them, and they rush over to pull Helzinger off of Oswald. As the other man is dragged away from him, Ed can now clearly see the damage that’s been done. He grips the grips the chain linked fence hard enough that his hands pale.

“I apologize for the display.” Strange appears behind them. “Mr. Cobblepot hasn’t been taking well to his new living situation. He’s been having problems with superiority,” he explains.

“Yeah, that sounds like him,” Bullock says, but Gordon is quiet.

Ed’s always known the detective to be one of the most perceptive people on the force, surely he can see behind such an obvious lie. Sure enough, when he looks at Gordon, his face conveys what he knows to be suspicion. He glances at Ed, looking for any kind of indication that something isn’t right. It’s the only moment he has to finally speak out about Arkham, his therapy, everything.

...And then he catches Strange staring him down, daring him to say any different. Let him see what happens if he speaks out of turn. It isn’t too late for them to finish their session properly, after all.

Ed swallows and averts his gaze once again. If there is any wariness that Gordon feels, he still decides not to press further. He takes one last look at Oswald before turning back to Strange.

“Is our patient in a secured location,” he asks.

“I’ve sent Dr. Thompkins over to our medical facility,” Strange says. “I’ll send Miss Peabody over to assist her.”

“We'll set up by the main gate. You should probably get the inmates back in their cells,” he says. Strange nods. He turns back to Bullock, who stares at the bloody mess before him. “Harv, come on.” He gives Ed a small nod, a wordless goodbye, before he and the others disappear down the hall.

Regardless of Gordon’s warning, it appears Strange isn’t in any hurry to send them back to their cells as guards shove Ed into the cafeteria with the others.

With the others gone, Ed turns his attentions back to Oswald. His face is red and swollen, blood flowing down from his broken nose as well as his mouth. There are splits in the skin from where Helzinger had dragged his nails. He doesn’t move from his spot on the ground. His breathes are slow and deep, but at least he is still breathing.

Peabody rolls her eyes. “See him to the medical wing,” she tells the guards, heading down the hall. She gives Strange a pointed look as she passes by.

The guards pull Oswald to his feet, too roughly for Ed’s liking. Blood drips from his mouth when he coughs and his head hangs low. The guards all but drag him from the room, as his body is too weak for him to walk properly.

Ed watches them go, his mouth pressing into a fine line. He and Helzinger need to have a little chat.

 

 

Oswald’s head thrums, the world around him blurs from existence. It lolls back and forth as the guards drag him away, his body near limp in their hands. In between the mixture of numbness and pain, he feels broken. He can just barely make out the chill of the open air as the rest of his body burns hot. They’re probably taking him to the infirmary.

The understanding of what has just happened is finally catching up on him. He doesn’t remember why he did it. He could have easily prevented the situation from escalating if he’d just kept quiet, but something from deep inside convinced him that he could do better than that. It was stupid and rash, completely uncharacteristic for him. It has to be his therapy sessions, it’s the only thing that he can connect with the change.

Out of the silence, he hears a commanding, familiar voice. He tilts his head up, looking out over the yard with swollen, bruising eyes. They land on Jim Gordon standing just within the facility’s gates. At first, he wonders if maybe he is hallucinating. He blinks, the figure is still there, and again he hears that voice barking out orders. In that moment, the pain is replaced by elation and hope.

“Jim! Jim, my old friend,” he calls out. Jim turns around, catching sight of him. The guards don’t stop, pulling him further along. He struggles, trying to slow them down. “Help, please!”

For a brief second, he fears that is pleas will be ignored, but then Jim calls out to the guards.

“Wait!”

The guards stop and drag him over to Jim. “Give us a minute,” he demands. The guards acquiesce and release his arms, taking a few steps back.

“Thank God you’re here,” Oswald says, his voice slurred by blood. He swallows, the coppery taste running down his throat. “You have to help me. They’re torturing me.”

Jim looks him once over, mildly perturbed by his haggard appearance, but overall disbelieving.

“Torture is what you do. The doctors here are trying to help you.”

“It’s torture, I’m telling you,” he insists.

Jim’s expression becomes more stern, like that of a police officer rather than a friend.

“I saw you in the cafeteria earlier. If anything, it looks like you’re the one making problems for everyone else. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“It’s not my fault, they’re making me do it.”

Jim scoffs. “Do you hear yourself right now?”

“I don’t know how but I know it has to be them,” he contends. “It’s mental torture.”

“It’s _therapy_ ,” Jim sneers. “You’re insane, remember? It’s what your lawyer said anyhow.”

Oswald stares at him, slack jawed, refusing to believe what he’s hearing. Is it not obvious that something isn’t right, and after everything he’s done for Jim, doesn’t he care? He doesn’t comprehend that it’s actually happening before it’s too late. Jim nods to the guards and once again he’s pulled into their grasp.

“Goodbye, Penguin.”

As soon as he realizes he’s been betrayed, the hurt is soon washed away by a venom running through his veins.

“You owe me Jim Gordon,” he hisses. “I lied for you!” He turns to the guards pulling him away. “He killed Galavan, not me,” he shouts for all the world to hear. “It was him! It was him!”

He screams and scream until his throat hurts, but his cries fall on deaf ears, just the everyday ramblings of another psychopath at Arkham. To his credit, Jim glances around the yard, wary of any onlookers that might overhear, but it’s no use. The guards drag him away, and he’s back in hell once more.

 

 

Lee adjusts the thin sheets of the small bed, making sure that Nora is well covered. She tries to remain focussed on her patient, but every so often, her attention shifts to the woman lying comatose in the next bed over. Of all the rooms this hospital had, they had to stick her in the same one as Barbara fucking Kean.

Barbara doesn’t move, the gentle rise and fall of her chest and the beeping of a monitor the only indicators that she’s still alive. In a passing thought, she wonders if anyone would even notice if Barbara were to die in her sleep. It wouldn’t take much, a pillow to keep her from breathing, a pocket of air shot into her IV with a syringe. Would anyone even care?

For a single, terrifying moment, she imagines doing it herself.

The moment passes as the doors swing open and another patient is brought into the room. The guards set him down on one of the cots across from them. Beneath the layer of blood and bruising is a face she recognizes.

“Penguin, hello.”

Penguin stares at her wide eyed, or as wide as they can go given his condition. Aside from the obvious injury to his body, he looks sickly and pale, more so than usual at least.

“Miss Thompkins. I didn’t expect to see you here,” he rasps.

“I have a patient I’m attending,” she explains, nodding to Nora sleeping soundly next to her.

“How’ve things been,” he asks all too calmly. It’s a little unnerving.

“Fine, everything’s fine,” she says, absentmindedly running a hand over her belly.

Penguin nods tersely. His entire body is trembling, his face pinches in anger.

“I just had a little chat with your _fiance_ ,” he spits, voice low and bitter. “He’s a killer you know, and a filthy liar.”

Lee stills. She’s used to hearing threats and nonsense from the days when she was working in Arkham, but Penguin isn’t as crazy as the others had been.

“I watched him shoot Galavan in the head, I saw the look on his face. He can deny it all he wants, but I know he has a monster living inside him. He can’t hide it forever.”

Lee doesn’t have a response to that. Part of her is shocked to hear the accusation, but another takes it with immediate acceptance. All those nights that she’d look Jim in the eye and ask if he’d done it, that she’d stay with him no matter what, and everytime he tell her that he was innocent. Every time, she’d choose to believe him, but something inside her always said that he was lying.

She must have given some kind of tell because Penguin’s mouth stretches into a smile.

“You know don’t you,” he giggles. Despite the manic grin on his face, his eyes are glistening and small beads begin to form at their corners. “How does it feel, carrying the child of a murderer?”

“That’s enough.”

Penguin gags as a woman sticks a needle deep into his neck. His body slackens and his eyes droop. She pulls the emptied syringe from his neck and he slumps back onto the bed.

“I apologize for his behavior. He’s been rather aggressive as of late, pay him no mind.”

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Ethel Peabody, I’m the Professor’s assistant.”

“Oh.” She gestures over to Barbara. “Since your here, could you move-”

The beeping of a pager draws Peabody’s attention. She pulls the device from her pocket and checks it. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m needed elsewhere. I trust you won’t mind sharing the wing with our dear Miss Kean.”

Lee sighs. “Of course not,” she gives a tight smile.

“Give me a call if you need anything,” she says as she exits the room.

She glances over the unconscious man. Despite Peabody’s warning, Penguin’s words resonate through her head. She and Jim are going to have to talk about this again, but that can wait.

There’s a quiet rustling beside her. “Where am I?”

She takes a deep breath and returns to her patient.

 

**.**

**.**

 

“That was a very, _very_ bad thing you did, Aaron.”

Helzinger says something under his breath that Ed doesn’t catch, probably another one of his bad excuses he comes up with every time he gets in trouble. Ed crosses his arms, telling him that isn’t a good enough answer.

They’ve been corralled in the cafeteria for some time now. He’s not sure why, some of the others have mentioned something about an ‘ice man’, but none of what they’re saying makes any sense. Maybe he’s the guy that gave Oswald the ice cream. If that’s the case, maybe he’ll track him and talk some sense to him as well.

“I just wanted some ice cream,” he mumbles.

“Then the obvious solution is to go and ask for it,” Ed growls. “Just because Oswald gets ice cream and you don’t doesn’t mean that you can beat him up.”

“But he’s always so mean!”

“Maybe he is a little rude at times,” Ed admits,”...but that doesn’t make you right for attacking him...And you know he’s trying to get better,” he adds.

Helzinger isn’t convinced. “You don’t know how he is. He’s always nicer around you,” he pouts.

Ed scoffs. “Now that isn’t true, he’s had plenty of nasty moments with me.”

“Has he ever tried to attack you?”

Ed turns around to find Rudy watching the two of them.

“Well, no, but that isn’t the only-“

“He hasn’t?” Another inmate looks at him in disbelief. “Aren’t you sharing a cell with him?”

Ed looks around, noticing that there are a few others who have been watching him. He wasn’t aware that he’d acquired an audience.

“Now like I said, Oswald and I have had our own struggles with each other,” he says addressing the small crowd.

“Yeah, but it’s different between you two,” Sharon says. “Everyone knows Penguin has a soft spot for you, can’t you talk to him or something?”

The group mutters in agreement. With all of the time he’s been spending with Oswald, he hadn’t considered how the other inmates had interpreted the two of them. He’d always thought of their agreement as some kind of partnership, but the others saw him as something more. He wasn’t Oswald’s partner, he was his _keeper_. The thought of that is exhilarating.

To them, he is the solution to their problem, and he isn’t one to give up a challenge.

“Fine, I’ll see what I can do.”

 

 

A total lock-down and one ‘ice man’ later, Ed is sent back to his cell. He gets the next few hours to himself before Oswald is returned from the infirmary. His face has been bandaged and stitched back together.

“Well, it could have been worse,” Ed remarks examining the stitches for himself. His own work is emphasized by the wounds, the red vibrance of Oswald’s eye standing bright against the bruises mottled over his face. The image sends a jolt of pride through his body. “They might leave some scars, but I think you’ll be fine. If anything, it’ll make you more intimidating, I think.”

He doesn’t say anything, his face doesn’t convey any emotion.

“I talked to Helzinger for you. You can expect an apology tomorrow.” Oswald nods in gratitude, at least that’s what Ed chooses to believe. “Detective Gordon was here earlier with the cops. I don’t know if you saw him or not.”

That of all things garners a response. “I did. We spoke.” There’s no joy in his voice.

“I would have thought you’d be happy to see him,” Ed says and Oswald scoffs. He offers a lopsided grin. “I take it your meeting didn’t go well.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Oswald snaps. His sullen demeanor melts away into hot rage. “I told him about what’s happened, what they’ve been doing to me...And what did he do about it? Nothing, not a damn thing!” He picks up the pillow from his bed and throws it hard against the wall.

Ed stays silent as Oswald continues his tirade, pacing furiously.

“After everything I’ve done for him, now he refuses to help me. He even had the gall to call me insane. He of all people should know that I don’t need to be here."

“Well, you know how Gordon is,” Ed shrugs. “Maybe you aren’t insane, but that hardly matters to him.”

Oswald shakes his head. “You don’t understand. When they asked me what happened that night at the docks, I lied. I lied and he knows I only did it for him.“

Ed doesn’t understand what he’s trying to say. Why would he have to lie for Jim Gordon of all people? “Are you saying you didn’t kill Galavan,” he asks.

Oswald sighs, sitting down on his bed. “I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life, but out of all the crimes I’ve committed, the one I get booked for is the one I didn’t do.”

“Then, who…”

“It was Jim,” Oswald confesses, snickering as he does. “Jim was the one that did him in. We drove him down to the docks and he shot him, straight through the head.”

Ed stares at him incredulously, stunned silent.

“Are you trying to tell me James ‘I’m gonna fix the system’ Gordon murdered a suspect?” Ed chuckles and shakes his head. “I don’t believe you.”

Oswald shrugs. “Emotions were high that night, what with the Wayne boy almost getting murdered, his girlfriend being pregnant and whatnot.”

They sit in silence for a while, the revelation sinking in. Jim Gordon, cold blooded murderer. Who would have guessed?

“First he takes away your chance at revenge and then he leaves you here to rot.” Ed shakes his head. “I guess that’s how every friendship ends, in betrayal.”

“I hope that isn’t true for us,” Oswald murmurs. Ed barely catches it, but when he does, his head buzzes with excitement.

“Do wish you did do it,” he asks.“...killed Galavan yourself?”

“I wanted to. The bastard deserved it, after what he did to…,” Oswald trails off.

Galavan’s murder wasn’t something Ed had much interest in at the time it happened. Maybe he should see if Sharon kept any of her old papers.

Oswald smiles. “I got to beat the shit out of him and shove an umbrella down his throat. That’s good enough for me, but if I had the chance to do it all again, I’d destroy that man...But I still have his sister to look forward to, so I’m not finished just yet. When I get out of here, I’m gonna find her and pick her apart one by one. Gordon too,” he adds.

The suggestion brings a guilty smile to his face. The thought of watching the heroic Detective Gordon beg pathetically for his life is a sinfully cathartic one. He doesn’t mention the conversation he’d had with the other inmates, Oswald isn’t in any mood to hear it. There’s always time for that later.

“Wait, did you just say Dr. Thompkins is pregnant?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oswald’s pushing everybody’s buttons today.


	9. -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping to post this sooner, but my internet's being a prat >:/  
> Hopefully the chapter will load this time lol

 

 

“It’s been awhile since we discussed your living arrangement. I suppose you’re doing as well as one can when in a mental hospital for the criminally insane,” Strange says with a smile.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t know why, but Strange’s words unnerve him.

“You and your roommate seem to be getting along.”

“Yes, we are.”

“The last time we spoke about him, the two of you weren’t so fond of one another. What’s changed?”

“Oswald and I have come to an agreement of sorts, and it’s been working out well. We’ve learned to tolerate one another.”

“Oh? I would say you’ve done more than that. It seems you’ve both really taken to one another.”

“I suppose you could say we’ve moved past being acquaintances. I thought a lot about what you told me, about being lonely. You were right, I need someone to share my life with, so I’ve decided to start while I'm here.”

“Is that so,” Strange chuckles. “Please, you don’t have to keep this act up. I’d rather if the two of us spoke plainly with one another.”

Ed furrows his brows. That’s not where he’d thought this conversation would be going.

“I’m...confused,” he admits.

“Yes, I can imagine you are, after all, you’d probably expect me to be glad to hear you’ve taken my advice.”

“Are you saying you’re not,” Ed asks.

Strange shrugs. “I might have been, were you actually following it. I noticed at our last session that you’ve managed to find a pattern to our conversations,” he explains, reaching into his desk. “It was a pleasant surprise, I was starting to get worried that you’d given up. Even if you won’t take direction from me, playing along is still better than nothing. Now that I’m sure you’re paying attention, I think it’s time we moved past this nonsense.”

Ed panics at the sight of the pill tin.

“B-but,” he stammers,“...I wasn’t done-”

“No, but I’ve had enough of this false praise,” Strange says, pushing the tin towards him. Ed stares at it in dismay.

“I don’t understand, why punish me,” Ed asks. “I’m doing everything you want, I followed every rule, you said it yourself.”

“Ah, but you see, Mr. Nygma, there are no rules to my game,” Strange explains. “I make my decisions as I see fit, and you will do as I ask. You will reach the end only when I’ve decided you are ready. So, if you’d like to proceed, you’ll take your pill as I’ve asked.”

A bead of sweat rolls down the side of Ed’s face. He takes a moment to think over his options. He could give in now and take one of the pills (not preferable), he could try to run (bad, the guards would catch him), he could jump out the window to his right (bad, also incredibly stupid, they’re several floors up). In the end, he decides on a more audacious root.

“I refuse,” he declares, standing from his seat.

“You’re in no position to do so,” Strange says without missing a beat. “Believe it or not, you are not the center of my attention. Our meetings are just as important to the others as they are to you.”

“I’m not playing any game of your if you don’t have rules. That isn’t fair.” Ed crosses his arms. “As I see it, I’ve done everything right so far, so there’s no reason for me taking a pill.”

Strange watches him, amused, and leans back in his seat. “How selfish you are. There are far greater things at stake than your integrity.”

“You can threaten me all you want, I don’t even care if you decide to send me to Blackgate, I’m not touching another one of those things.”

“Blackgate,” Strange scoffs. “We are far past that. We can’t just stop the process now.”

“Why not,” Ed asks. Strange doesn’t say anything, just continues watching him with that smug smile. “Fine, don’t tell me, it doesn’t matter. Detective Gordon knows something’s up with this place, I saw it when he was here. If I know anything about Detective Gordon, it’s that once he’s caught a scent, he doesn’t give up so easily. He’ll be back for sure.”

“What will you do if he does come back, try to convince him to help you escape? That didn’t work out so well for Mr. Cobblepot. Besides, we both know Jim Gordon has a few secrets of his own that he doesn’t want brought to light.”

Ed fingers tighten around his arms. Was Strange talking about Galavan? How would he even know about that? Regardless of the fact he’s more than a bit on edge, he doesn’t let his words deter him. He still has one more trick up his sleeve.

“That’s true, but maybe he’ll be more understanding when I tell him about your little side project.”

Strange cocks his head. “...And what would that be?”

“That you’re making monsters in the basement.”

“Monsters in the basement,” Strange chuckles. “My goodness, you are insane.“

“You can play dumb if you want to, but that won’t stop me.”

“Have you seen any of these monsters?”

Ed swallows. “No, but Oswald did. He told me all about your facility and the creatures you're keeping down there.”

“...And you believe him,” Strange smirks. “Maybe you’re crazy enough to trust a psychopath raving about imaginary monsters, but not everyone is as foolish. I can’t even imagine they’re reaction when they hear you of all people trying to give them a second-hand account of such things.”

Ed bites down on his lip, trying his best to keep his cool, a difficult task given how quickly he’s burnt through his options.

“You can try all you want to stall this session, but the fact of the matter is that you are a patient at my facility, and I am the only authority of what you will or will not do. Now sit down and take your pill,” Strange commands. “Or I’ll have you tied down and make you take it.”

He stares him down, but Ed stands defiant. It’s quiet for one intense moment before Strange sighs. “If you insist,” he says and presses a button lying out on his desk that makes a small beeping sound.

The next moment, the doors burst open as a pair of guards rush towards Ed. There’s little he can do as they grab him and pull him into his seat, one of them tying his arms down as they do. His mouth is forced open as one of the guards shove a pill in his mouth, followed by a suffocating amount of water. The guard clamps his nose and mouth shut, and he can no longer breath. He tries wriggling out of the guards grasp, but a firm hand is placed on his neck, keeping his head in place.

He lasts a total of thirty seconds before he gives in and swallows the water. As soon as he does, the guards let go and he slumps into his seat, gasping for air.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it,” he hears Strange say as room spins around him, and once again the world starts to fade away.

 

**.**

**.**

 

Group therapy ended earlier than expected, so they’re all standing around waiting for the lunch hour to start. Their activity for the day was knitting, and while Oswald’s familiar with the basics of sewing, he didn’t take to it as easily. The only good thing that came out of the exercise was when managed to pocket one of the knitting needles without any of the nurses catching him. Hopefully they won’t notice him sneaking it back to his cell.

He looks over the atrocity he’d knit together, uneven rows and strands of yarn sticking out the sides.

“This thing needs to be burned,” he grumbles throwing the tangled mess back onto the pile with the other discarded knits.

“It’s not too bad for your first time,” Ed remarks bundling up the green scarf he’d started and tossing it on the pile as well.

The two of them haven’t spoken much in the last few days. Ed had his meeting with Strange yesterday, so he’s been giving him his space. They’ve never discussed what happens at his meetings, but Ed’s always in a bad mood afterwards and he doesn’t want to risk a fight. Oswald’s glad to hear him sounding cheerful again, he’s been wanting to have this conversation for a while and he doesn’t want Ed to be crabby for it.

“While we’re both here, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” he says.

“What is it,” Ed asks. Oswald pulls him away from the others so that they won’t listen in.

“With everything that’s happened, between me and Jim, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about friendship and what it really means to have...and to _be_ a friend. Talking to you these past months has been more pleasant than I’d thought it would have. I don’t know how I’d get by without you. We had or shortcomings at first, but I’m glad to be where we are today. To be quite honest, you’re possibly the best friend I’ve ever had, as sad as that sounds.”

“Wow,” Ed breathes, wide eyed. For a moment, Oswald fears the confession has discouraged him, but then Ed’s face breaks into a smile. “I agree. It’s been a bit stressful, for sure, but you’ve definitely made my life here more interesting. I think you might be my best friend too.”

“You do,” he asks, and Ed nods. “Good, that’s good. I want…,” he begins, but nothing follows. He pauses as he tries to put his thoughts together, this isn’t something he’s had much practice with, after all.

“Yes?”

“Back when you found the secret elevator, and I threw you under the bus...,” he starts again, “I regret it, deeply. There was no reason for me to suspect you of betraying me. I let my paranoia get out of hand and you suffered the consequences.” Ed just watches him, looking more confused than anything. “I’m not doing a great job at explaining myself, I don’t know how to say this...”

“Oswald, are you apologizing to me,” he asks, voice sounding almost playful.

Oswald sniffs, straightening himself. “Yes, I am.”

“Well then, I forgive you,“ Ed says.

“Oh.” He hadn’t expected it to be that simple. “Really?”

“Yes. To be honest, I think I forgave you awhile ago, but it still means a lot to me. I don’t usually get apologies from people, so it’s nice to hear it from you.” He casts his eyes down. “...And well, I guess it’s only fair that I apologize to you as well.”

“What for,” Oswald asks.

“I wasn’t very sympathetic to your plight when we were first put together. I know that you were probably scared, but all I could think of was myself...And then we had that fight and I said all of those things about you…”

“I can’t fault you for that, and I said some nasty things myself.”

“Still I also let my emotions get the better of me and I reacted badly. You’re eye…,” he starts, but Oswald waves him off.

“I haven’t really noticed it,” he lies. He still has problems seeing out of it, and it itches like all hell, but he doesn’t want anything ruining this. “It’s in the past. Let bygones be bygones, and all that.”

“Yes, I’d like that,” Ed agrees placing a hand on Oswald’s shoulder. It’s not a hug or anything, but he understands the meaning, and returns the gesture. As he extends his arm, he feels cool plastic against his chest, reminding him of the next step of his plan. He reaches into his jumpsuit.

“I wanted you to have something, as part of my apology,” he says, pulling out his find. “I saw one of the guards had it, and I know you like games.”

Ed takes the plastic case with a wide smile. “You stole a Gameboy for me?”

“I figured you were probably tired of reading the same books over again,” he says, watching Ed look over the toy excitedly. “I hope you like it.”

“I do, although I can’t really do much with it since it doesn’t have any cartridges,” he says pointing to the empty compartment.

“Oh,” Oswald replies, smile deflating. “I didn’t know you needed that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ed smiles warmly. “You wanted to do something nice for me and you did, thank you. I’ll have to find some way to repay you.”

“There’s no need for that,” Oswald insists. “Helping me escape is more than enough to make up for a few hurtful words.”

“It isn’t just that. Everyone I’ve ever met, it as if they’ve already decided they didn’t like me before I even talk to them. Usually they just ignore me, but you didn’t. You saw that there was more to me you gave me a shot. I want you to know just how appreciative I am. I would do anything for you.”

_I would do anything for you, my little Cobblepot._

Oswald freezes as familiar words echo through his head.

Ed pales. “I’m sorry, was that too much?”

Oswald opens his mouth, but nothing comes from it.

“I made awkward, didn’t I?” Ed looks away sheepishly. “God, I’m so stupid.”

Hearing those words manages to break Oswald from his daze.

“No, no you’re not. Don’t say that,” he says. “It just caught me off guard is all. You’re the first person to say that to me in a long time. It’s really-“

They’re interrupted as Norton appears beside them and swipes the Gameboy from Ed’s hands. He giggles, dangling the toy from his fingers.

“Yes, you’re very funny, now give it back,” Ed says, annoyed. He reaches out to grab it back, but Norton quickly pulls away.

They struggle for a bit with but soon enough, Ed manages to snatch it back from him. He shoots Norton a glare before turning back to Oswald. “I swear, everyday I’m here, I ask myself if I’m in a hospital or a preschool,” he says, rolling his eyes, but the moment passes and he takes it with mild annoyance.

The same cannot be said for Oswald. Oswald is irate, he’s fuming, he’s every word in the dictionary and then some, anything to describe being really fucking mad. How dare that scum try to take his gift away. He didn’t risk stealing from one of the guards just to have it defiled by this waste.

“Oswald…”

Amidst the soft hum of blood rushing through his head, he hears mother’s voice whispers in his ear.

 _Don’t let them bully you_ ! _Break him_ ! _Cut him_ ! _Show him you won’t be pushed around_!

“...are you okay?”

Oswald all but pushes Ed to the side, yelling as he tackles Norton to the ground. There’s a few seconds where he’s too shocked to do anything and Oswald manages a few hits, but once the initial shock is gone, Norton returns the punches with his usual ferocity. The two of them struggle in each others holds, each one of them biting and scratching at the other like wild animals. There’s jeering coming from the other inmates, but it isn’t the usual rowdiness that occurs during fights. This time the shouting is angry instead of encouraging.

The fight stops almost as soon as it started as he feels a set of hands pulling him up and away from the other man. He rams his elbow into the assailant’s chest, and he’s met with a grunt from a familiar voice. He snaps his head back to find Ed standing there with his hand pressed into his side, slightly bent over in pain.

Oswald’s eyes widen as he realizes what he’s done. “I didn’t mean...” He doesn’t get to finish as a pair of guards take hold of him, and start dragging him out of the room.

The other inmates watch him, disdain written on their faces. When he glances back at Ed, he doesn’t find anger, but rather disappointment. He looks away, hang his head as he’s guided down the hall.

 

**.**

**.**

 

“I don’t understand why this isn’t working,” Peabody huffs as Strange rewinds the tape again. They’ve reviewed the footage countless time now, but still haven’t been able to identify the trigger for any of Cobblepot’s outbursts. “I know you’ve said there are no lost causes...”

“...And there aren’t,” he finishes. “Relax, Miss Peabody, not every endeavor results in immediate progress.”

“It’s not just a lack of progress, we’re getting the opposite of what we were hoping for. He’s become more violent since we started using the formula on him.”

“Yes, I do believe we’ve uncovered a flaw in using fear as a deterrent, but that doesn’t mean our research is hopeless. In this case, we’ll need to supplement him with another treatment alongside the Crane formula.”

“I doubt that’s going to work either. He doesn’t trust us enough to engage in regular therapy.”

“That’s true, he doesn’t trust us, but our counseling many not be necessary,” Strange explains. “Therapy is a natural process that happens in everyday life. In hardship it is normal to seek guidance in others, perhaps even a new friend,” he says, gesturing to the second man displayed on the screen.

“So that’s what this has been about. You’re using Nygma as a proxy to modify Cobblepot’s behavior,” Peabody concludes. “I might be more impressed if this little experiment of yours provided us with results. We’ve been treating them both for several weeks, and he’s still failed every test we’ve given him.”

“On the contrary, Miss Peabody, there’s one test he managed to pass with flying colors.” Strange rewinds again, this time following Nygma’s actions. “You’ll notice, as soon as Nygma is hurt, Cobblepot ceases his advance. That’s a good sign.”

“He’s made himself a friend, so what?”

Strange pauses the tapes. “The issue with Mr. Cobblepot is not the treatment, but rather the medium. When we are faced with fear, the mind stimulates one of two responses, the need to run away or to fend off the source. Whatever thought process it is that the Crane formula is stimulating in Cobblepot’s mind, the most logical response for him is to attack. If we want to elicit submission, then we must manipulate his fears into something that he would respond to with such.”

“...And how do you propose we do that,” she asks.

“I believe Mr. Nygma offers a solution to that problem as well,” Strange says with a smirk.

 

**.**

**.**

 

Ed stares at the pages of his book, but his mind doesn’t process the words. He doesn’t feel like reading, but he’d rather it look like he was than stare at the walls. He doesn’t look up when the door unlocks and Oswald limps into the cell. He gives a light greeting, which Ed doesn’t acknowledge. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Oswald is the first to speak.

“I’m pretty sure he bit me,” Oswald says, examining his shoulder. It’s overly casual, an obvious attempt at dissuading the tension. He’s not getting off that easily.

“Hm, imagine that, a known cannibal biting people,” Ed says tersely. “I can’t think of how you could have possibly avoided that.”

Oswald casts him a dubious glance. “Are you angry with me or something?”

“I believe the answer to that is obvious,” Ed answers, glaring back at him.

Oswald winces. “I wasn’t trying to hit you, I swear, I just got caught up in the moment.”

“I don’t care about that. You shouldn’t have even been fighting in the first place.”

Oswald rolls his eyes. “Why are you getting mad at me and not Norton? He’s the one who stole from you.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like he broke it, he gave it back. It’s obnoxious but nothing worth getting beaten up over.”

“He still deserved it, he shouldn’t have done that.”

“Maybe, but I handled it quite fine by myself,” Ed snaps “...And just because we’re trapped in a madhouse doesn’t mean you have to start acting like it. I expect better from you.”

Oswald groans. “Don’t start with that thing where you act all high and mighty. I’m not a kid, I don’t need you to babysit me, Ed.”

“Actually, it seems I do need to babysit you, because it turns out the entire populace of this facility has had enough of you,” Ed says, setting the book down. “They asked me to talk to you about it, but I don’t know how long that will last. If you push them too much, they’re all going to turn on you.”

“I don’t care what they do,” Oswald growls. “It’s none of their business and it’s not yours either.”

Ed sighs. “Why do you continue doing it? If you keep this up, you’re going to get yourself killed.”

“I’ve heard that before, and guess what, I’m still here.”

“...But it doesn’t have to be like that. You don’t have to fight everything that so much as breathes on you,” Ed says. “I’m worried about you. You need to dial it back, if not for the sake of your safety, at least do it for your reputation.”

“What are you talking about, you know I don’t care about what other people think of me.”

“That’s a lie, you care very much about your reputation,” Ed counters. “Maybe you’re fine with sacrificing your pride to get what you want, but when it’s all said and done, you want to be respected.”

“Weren’t you watching the others,” Oswald asks. “They wouldn't dare to face me.”

“...Because you’re acting like raving looney, not because they revere you. They fear you Oswald. It’s true fear and respect are often hand-in-hand, but the two do not equate to one another,” Ed explains. “People destroy the things they fear, it’s respect that holds them back. You’ve found their fear, but respect comes from restraint, which you obviously are lacking in.”

He expects Oswald to shout something back at him, but instead he takes his words in pensive silence.

“You’re right, I’ve been too impulsive lately. I’m not usually like this” he admits. “It’s something about this place, whatever it is they’re doing to me. It’s driving me crazy.”

Ed doesn’t know what make of his words. He can’t say for sure if Oswald is speaking truthfully, he wasn’t exactly known for being calm and collected before coming to Arkham. In the back of his mind, he hears Strange taunting him for being so gullible, but he silences those thoughts. It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not, as long as Oswald thinks it is.

“All the more reason for you to resist those urges,” Ed says. “I know the kind of person you can be when you focus. If they want to see you at your lowest, then you have to show them your highest. Don’t let them beat you.”

Oswald stares at him dumbfounded, but resolves to nod silently. They end the conversation there, giving Oswald time to think about what he’s going to do next. All Ed can do now is hope he takes his advice, lest he fall further at the mercy of their jailers.

 

**.**

**.**

 

“What is it you see in Mr. Cobblepot?”

“ _He interests me._ ”

“Of course he does, Edward, he interests me too,” Strange chuckles. “...But what about him interests you?”

“ _The guy was nothing more that a servant just barely a year ago_ , _and in that time_ , _he alone took the system and flipped it on it’s head_ . _Even though he’s been usurped_ , _the effects of his reign have changed everything_ . _The old ways are dead_ , _and he killed them_.”

Strange nods. “I suppose it is admirable in a way, although I don’t think murder is anything to be admired. Don’t you agree?”

“ _You know I don’t_ ,” he replies with a small smile.

“So is that what you see him as, a mentor?”

“ _I suppose you could call it that_ . _I wasn’t too keen on having him hanging around_ , _but I’ll admit I’ve picked up on some of it myself_.”

“Why would you concern yourself with him if you didn’t want him there in the first place?”

“ _I thought it would be fun to see my lesser half finally grow a spine_ . _He’s done him good so far, but it won’t last_ , _and I’m not exactly sidekick material_.”

“Sidekick. So you’re planning on working under him?”

“ _Not_ under _him_ ,” Ed huffs. “ _I’ll be working_ beside _him_ . _If he ever gets out_ , _he’s gonna make me his partner_.”

“That’s a bold claim. You believe he trusts you enough to let you stand his equal?”

“ _I know he trusts me_ , _even the others can see it_ . _It wasn’t too hard_ . _He likes to think he’s a tough shell to crack_ , _but he wears his emotions on his sleeve_.”

“How does that make you feel, knowing that you have this hold over him?”

Ed grins. “ _Powerful_.”

“Then why stop there? Why not take over from where he left off?”

“ _You think I can_ ,” he asks coyly.

“I can’t imagine why else you’d waste so much of your time on someone so worthless to you.”

The smile slowly slips from Ed’s face.

“No.”

Strange gives him an inquisitive look. “...No?”

“He’s not worthless,” Ed says. He sounds genuinely offended.

“You’ll have to excuse me, but I don’t see how a violent narcissist holds any worth.”

“ _Does that statement extend to me_ , _as well_ ,” Ed asks, voice low and dangerous again. He’s leaning as far forward as his bound wrists allow for. “ _Are you calling_ me _worthless_?”

“That depends, are you a violent narcissist?”

“ _Do you think I am_?”

Strange shrugs. “I’m not sure to be honest. I’ll admit your exact personality is a bit difficult to define on account of there being two of them.” Ed’s mouth presses into a thin line, not appeased by that answer, but he continues, regardless. “Aside from his depraved mental state, he’s also a has-been crime lord with no allies. How else do you see him if not a failure?”

Ed’s demeanor slackens, his eyes cast down in pity. “You’re right that he isn’t in the best of places right now, but neither am I.” He shifts his gaze back up, eyes full of determination. “I have to believe he can bounce back from this. Maybe he’s hit rock bottom, but that doesn’t mean he’s done for good. It wasn’t that long ago that he was at the top of his game. He did it once, he can do it again.”

Strange hums. “I see your relationship is more complex than I’d intended. Answer me this, if he’s more than an instrument for you to climb your way to the top, then what is he to you?”

Ed cocks his head to the side, as though he’s stating the obvious. “He’s my friend.”

Strange smirks. “Well, I am certainly glad to hear that.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, two chapters left in Part 1
> 
> I’m hoping to get the next chapter out by Thursday, if my schedule (and my shitty internet) allows it.


	10. -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lot’s of revelations happening today and a whole lot of angst. You’ve been warned.

 

 

“I want us to do something a little different today,” Strange starts. “I’d like for you to take your medication first.”

It’s an odd request. He’s not one for breaking routine.

“Why?”

“You’ve been making a great deal of progress in these last few weeks, but I think we can take it even further.”

Ed groans but Strange continues on.

“There was a study done several years ago on subjects who had their corpus callosums severed. The corpus callosum is the only structure in the brain that connects information between the two hemispheres, and when it is damaged, they perceive information independently from one another.

“The subjects were given flashes of two words, each one paired to an individual eye. When they were asked to say what word they saw, they would often say they saw the word picked by their dominant eye, and when asked to pick up that object with their dominant hand, they would do so. However, when they were asked to pick up the object they saw with their other hand, they would pick up the object corresponding with the word flashed before their non dominant eye. They had no recollection of seeing that word, but their hand picked the object anyways.

“What’s even more interesting, is that sometimes when they reached for the object they saw with their dominant hand, their other hand would hold it down and drag to the object seen by the non dominant eye. It was as though the two hemispheres would try to correct one another,” Strange concludes. “Fascinating isn’t it?”

“Yes, I too took beginner’s neuroscience,” Ed replies snidely. “What’s your point?”

“The point, Edward, is that the mind works on a subconscious level that we can’t even begin to understand. You should be grateful that your inner psyche is as loud as it is. Most people go their whole lives without knowing who they are.”

“Forgive me if I don’t feel quite so appreciative,” Ed grumbles twisting his hands around in his restraints. After his incident the previous week, Strange decided it would be better to have him restrained from the start, his arms bound to the chair.

“Your mind is at war with itself, but we can change that,” Strange explains. “The more you allow yourself to speak freely, the more you can begin to accept yourself. Once you’ve fully realized the person you are now, you will finally be able to free yourself of these troubles. I believe that we are very close to achieving just that.”

 _Of the course we are, just like when you said I’d be out of here in a few months._ Ed sighs. “You think so?”

“There’s only one more piece I need from you to complete this puzzle. Are you ready to proceed,” he asks.

Ed pauses, but ultimately concedes and gives him a small nod. A large hand clamps down on his chin, forcing his mouth open as one of the orderlies places a single pill in his mouth. With his job done, the orderly leaves the room, him and Strange alone once again.

“Bite down,” he commands. Ed does as he’s told.

Taking the pills over time has given him some level of tolerance, the kickback is nowhere near as strong now as it was the first time. He feels the presence of his other half, but it’s a much fainter feeling, as though there’s a thin layer of life sitting just outside of his skin instead of separating entirely.

Strange gives him a few minutes for his body to process the drug before speaking.

“I believe it’s about time we discussed Kristen Kringle.”

The warmth radiating through his body spikes at her name. He should have realized this would be happening, it was unavoidable...But he could still try.

“ _I don’t want to_.”

“You don’t have a choice. We’ve gone through everything else, the only thing left to discuss is her and what happened that night.”

Ed scowls, but doesn’t make any further complaints.

“My first question; why did you tell her?”

 _You’ll do better with that one if she’s a little scared of you._ “I thought it would comfort her. She was worried Dougherty was going to find out about us, I didn’t want her to be afraid of him anymore.”

“I can tell when you’re lying, Edward,” Strange says plainly. “Try again.”

His head buzzes as the drug further envelops him. He feels too warm, too loose for comfort, and yet his chest tightens. He swallows thickly. “I didn’t want her to leave me.”

“Why would you think confessing to murder would prompt her to stay? You thought she’d be impressed?”

“I wanted to share myself with her. She was worried that I wasn’t opening up to her, which was true, heh.” He smiles in memory, shaking his head. “She was so much smarter than she let on. I always thought she could do better for herself, in her job, her life.”

“...And in men,” Strange asks.

Ed glowers. “ _Yes_ , _men too_.”

“What happened that inspired you to tell her about Officer Dougherty?”

“Earlier that day, before everything happened, I overheard a conversation between her and Dr. Thompkins,” he says, sourly. “She said that she was missing _fire_ from me, that she missed the _danger_.”

“It doesn’t sound like you were too fond of that idea,” Strange remarks.

Ed shakes his head. “I don’t-I just can’t understand why she would want someone that would hurt her like that. I thought that if I showed her that I could be caring that she wouldn’t dislike me so much, but she just wanted me to _be more like him_.”

“Tell me what happened leading up to your confrontation.”

“That night, we met back at my apartment for dinner...and then Kristen and I, we uh…,” he coughs awkwardly.

Strange takes the hint and raises a brow. “I see. Was that your first time?”

“Yes,” Ed admits, face pink.

“That’s an emotional event for most people, you must have felt quite vulnerable.“

That was one way to put it, but Ed liked to think receptive was a better term. Sex hadn’t been something he’d liked to think about, even after he and Kristen had finally gotten together. It always made him anxious. _What if he couldn’t perform well, what if she laughed at him?_...But none of those things happened, she was gentle and loving. Everything about it had been perfect, made more so as he’d ended the night with his own grand finale.

“How did it feel when you told her of what you’d done?”

Ed grins. “ _Beautiful_.”

“Is that so,” Strange asks. “I would imagine you’d have been rather scared, it sounds quite nerve racking.”

“Yes, it was. I loved every moment of it.” It was intimate, even more so than when they’d made love. As soon as the words had left his mouth, his truest self sat open and naked before her, leaving him at her mercy. He would never forget that terrifying moment he felt that rush, standing at the edge of uncertainty, staring into the void.

...And then that euphoria had been stripped away, almost as soon as it’d happened.

“She didn’t feel the same way.” He smiles sadly. A low pain settles in his chest.

“How did you feel when she rejected your confession?”

“I felt…” He bites down on his lip. “I felt _used_.”

“Why is that? Do you think she was trying to make you kill Dougherty?”

“No, but she was…,” he trails off. His eyes burn with unshed tears. He wants more than anything to press his hands into them, stop the inevitable streams from spilling down his face, making him weak. He wriggles his hands against the restraints. “She was lying, she wasn’t over him,” he admits. "I was just a rebound. She was probably planning to leave me the next morning, when all was said and done.”

Strange tilts his head. “Did she tell you that?”

“No, but I know it’s true. Even when we were together, she’d always find some way to bring him up. I hoped that she would move on eventually, but it’s obvious she still cared about him, if she didn’t she wouldn’t have…,” his breath hitches on his own words. He squeezes his eyes shut as he feels the first set of tears rolling down his cheeks. “...she wouldn’t have kept it if it didn’t mean something to her.”

“Kept what?”

“ _That note_ ,” Ed hisses, his voice bitter. “ _She was supposed to throw it away_ , _but she didn’t_ . _She held onto it_ , _even when the words broke her heart_ . _She wanted to keep him with her even after everything he’d done to her_.”

At his own admission, something inside him breaks. Every cruel word and self loathing thought he’d locked away spills out, uninhibited.

“She never wanted me, no one ever has, but I thought if tried, I could make her want me. She made me want to be better. I changed myself for her, because I wanted her to feel for me the same way I felt for her...But she didn’t, _she hated me_ . _She alone was the only reason for my existence_ . _I changed for her, killed for her_ , _I gave her all that I had and more_ . _She was my everything and she hated me_!”

Strange doesn’t speak, giving Ed time to ride out his self pity. He probably looks ridiculous right now, bawling his eyes out, his face sticky with salt and mucus. It doesn’t matter anymore, there’s nothing left for him to care about.

“She was right, I’m just another monster,” he sobs. “She should have killed me when she had the chance.”

“Perhaps she should have,” Strange agrees. Ed hadn’t realized he’d moved from his seat until he feels Strange’s hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps it’s best for you to believe she did.”

Ed glances up at him through teary, questioning eyes.

“You’ve changed, Edward, you’re much different from the man sitting in your place when you first came here,” he says. “Take this opportunity, pretend that you did die.”

Ed sighs through hiccupping breaths. As he feels the drug fizzling away, so too does the cacophony of defamation he hears in his head. All of those awful thoughts and disappointments begin to fade away, replaced with quiet emptiness.

“Death is not an end,” Strange assures him,”...it’s a new beginning.”

 

**.**

**.**

 

Oswald paces nervously around the cell. It’s already past the lunch hour and still Ed hasn’t returned from his meeting. He can’t help but worry, it’s not often that Strange changes the regimen order. His mind supplies him with the worst options, of course, images of Ed holed away somewhere down in the basement, Peabody laughing as she pokes him with suspicious needles.

He takes a deep breath and counts down from ten, trying to calm down. It was something Ed had suggested for him to manage his anger. He’d rolled his eyes at the concept, but still he found himself using it every so often.

He stifles a sigh of relief as he hears the sound of footsteps approaching. He sits down on his bed, as if he hadn’t been standing around worrying for the last few hours. The door opens and Ed shuffles in, keeping his head low as he lies down on his own bed.

“Well that took forever, what happened?”

“Nothing,” Ed replies sullenly.

Oswald furrows his brows. “What’s wrong?” When Ed glances up at him, his face is patchy and red. “Were you crying,” he asks.

Ed shifts his face away again. “I’m fine, Oswald.”

“...But you never cry.” His eyes widen when he catches sight of Ed’s wrists, raised and raw with rope burn. “Ed, what happened,” he asks again.

Ed sits up against the wall. “I’ve realized something today,” he says, face impassive. “I’ve been lying since the beginning, to myself, to you. Everything I thought I was trying to do here has been meaningless.”

“What are you saying?”

“I thought once I was free of this place, there’d be a perfect life waiting to find me, but now I see there’s no chance of that. I’m no longer the man I thought I was, there’s nothing of him that’s left out there.” His face isn’t one of sadness, rather he seems to exhibit calm acceptance of his fate. Coupled with such ill words, the sight is unnerving.

“Ed, you can’t give up so easily. What about Ms. Kringle?”

Ed flinches at her name. “For some men, love is a source of strength, but for you and I, it will always be our most crippling weakness. We are better off unencumbered.”

“Don’t say that, Ed. Don’t break your resolve just yet.” Oswald says. “You’ll see her again, I’m sure of it. I know without a single doubt whatever you’re planning is going to work, I believe in you. You and I are going to to get out of here, and when we do-”

“No we’re not, Oswald. There is no plan,” Ed says coldly. “There never was. I just said that to make you cooperate with me.”

There’s a pause as his words settle in, Oswald staring at the other man, utterly dismayed.

“What?!” He jumps up from his bed. “You promised me you would get me out of here! We made a deal!”

“Words mean nothing when spoken by dishonorable men,” Ed replies, cooly. “You should know that.”

Oswald is stunned silent, dread filling the areas of his mind that had once held hope. All this time he’s been here, placing all of the faith he had left in Ed’s hands, none of it mattered. Despite how much he’d endured in waiting to be freed, they were both still trapped in this Hell, and now they’d be stuck here, forever.

There’s nothing else that he can do, so instead he just laughs, the sound of it ugly to his own ears.

“I was right about you, all along. To think I was actually going to make you my partner,” Oswald sneers. “We were going to take the city by storm, and now you’ve ruined everything!”

Ed stands to meet his gaze. “Is that really what you wanted, Oswald?”

“What do you mean, of course I wanted it,” he shouts, but Ed isn’t convinced.

“Say we did get out of here, what then, did you ever think about that? You have no one on the outside who’s willing to help you and more than a few people who want you dead. You would have failed, and then I’d have paid for your mistakes, just like your mother did.”

Oswald freezes. “What did you say?”

“I read the papers that talked about you and Galavan. I know what he did to her,” Ed explains. “Face it, your mother is dead because of your weakness, but what you need to realize is that your weakness is _her_.”

“How dare you!” He reaches beneath his pillow and pulls out the knitting needle he’d stolen. He holds the sharp end of the needle against Ed’s throat, but he doesn’t so much as flinch. “No one talks about her like that, especially not traitors like you!”

Ed shrugs. “From what I’ve seen of her, I’d say she’s better off staying dead.”

Oswald grinds his teeth. “My mother was a saint! She would never…,” he starts, but stops as his mind supplies him with his own memories of her. He remembers every night, he sat beside him in bed, telling him that he was a good boy, a better person than all of the bullies who only hurt him to make themselves feel powerful. He remembers how proud she’d been when he’d opened his club, finally making an honest living for himself. He remembers her face, filled with sadness, after they’re confrontation with Maroni, the truth that he was no angel plain and obvious between them.

“She’d never…”

Ed tilts his head. “Would never what,” he asks. “Never tell you to slit my throat?”

Oswald snaps his gaze back up to meet Ed’s.

“Or how about cutting my tongue out, would she have told you to do that too?”

“How do you-”

“You talk to her in your sleep Oswald,” he says. “It’s her, right? She’s the one who tells you to do those things you do to the others? I’m more than familiar with the premise.”

Oswald ducks his head in shame and panic. He thinks back on all those nights, private conversations between him and his mother. Everything they’d talked about, all the things he’d imagined himself doing to Ed, and he’d heard every word of it. He expects him to be angry, but Ed remains calm, lighty pushing Oswald’s hand away from his throat.

“You’re right, your mother wouldn’t do any of those things,” he says. “Your mother would have hated to know the things you’ve done, no matter how much she loved you. She’d hate herself for letting you become this, and you’d hate yourself for causing her that pain. She wouldn’t do these things because it isn’t her. If you really want to move on, then you need to let her go first.”

Oswald trembles, his eyes wet and vision blurred. In that moment, the reality he’d so desperately been ignoring all these months crashes down on him. He sees his mother, lying lifeless on the cold ground, her last days filled with torture and despair, only to end in the arms of her son who put her there. Ed was right, she was gone, forever, and was all his fault.

He looks up at Ed, defiant. “Well maybe I don’t want to let her go,” he cries. “Everything I’ve ever worked for, I did to make her happy. Everything I’ve built was for her, and she isn’t even alive to enjoy it. All I have left of her are memories, and now they’re like daggers in my heart.”

Ed watches him with a sad understanding in his eyes, which only makes Oswald cry harder.

“She was the only person who truly cared about me, and now she's gone,” he sobs. “I have nothing left!”

At those words, Ed’s gaze shifts.

“A man with nothing that he loves is a man who cannot be bargained, a man that cannot be betrayed, a man who answers to no one but himself.”

Oswald stares dumbfounded at the other man, their eyes locked with one another. There’s no pity in Ed’s gaze, no deceit, only determination. He doesn’t see him as a hopeless wreck, he believes in him.

Something stirs from deep within him, something he hasn’t felt in a long time. He does nothing as Ed takes his hand, deftly pulling the needle from it.

“...And that is the man that I see before me, a free man.”

 

**.**

**.**

 

The two of them don’t speak with one another for the rest of the night. Ed has resigned himself to reading, as usual, and Oswald finds himself deep in thought. He turns the needle in his hands, thinking of how close he’d come to killing Ed, more relieved he hadn’t with each passing second.

Ed was right, it was foolish to think escaping now would do him any good. There isn’t much he could do here, but that could change. He needs to be patient, wait for the right opportunity before making his next move.

...And he needs to move on.

The quiet is broken when a guard walks by and opens the cell door.

“D171,” the guard addresses Ed. “The Professor wants to talk to you.”

Ed stiffens. “Why?”

The guard doesn’t answer him, just watches him expectantly as Ed stands. He glances back at Oswald, giving him one last, reassuring look before the guard guides him to Strange’s office. The door slams shut, leaving Oswald to face the silence on his own. The room is deathly quiet, but he knows he isn’t alone.

“Anything for you, my little Cobblepot…You said that to me, every night before I fell asleep.” He turns his head, his mother sitting next to him on the bed. “I’d forgotten all about it. It’s been so long since I’ve heard it.”

She watches him with sad eyes, paler than the ones he remembered.

“I’ve missed you so much. Every time you come, it feels like I’m back at home and everything’s alright, but then you always leave me again, and it hurts just as much every time.”

“ _I know_ , Leichen , _it’s been so hard for you_ , _being here in this place_ ,” she says. She takes Oswalds hand in her own, cold fingers and places a light kiss onto his knuckles. “ _Just know that I only want the best for you_. _You can always count on me_.”

“I don’t know if I believe that,” Oswald says, pulling his hand away slowly. “I think maybe what you want doesn’t align with my best interests.”

“ _Don’t talk to your mama this way_ . _You break my heart_ ,” she whimpers, placing her hand over her chest.

Normally whenever he saw his mother cry, he would do whatever he could to comfort her, but something is different this time. He doesn’t feel sympathetic, he feels angry. When he looks at her now, he sees everything that’s different. The joy he was so used to seeing in her face now looks like a painted veneer, her wily hair is twisted and brittle and her eyes cold and uncaring.

“I’ll talk to you however I damn well please,” he growls,“...because you are not my mother.”

“ _Oh_ , _Oswald_ …,” she starts, face contorted with despair, but he cuts her off.

“Stop it, don’t pretend to be her when you can’t,” he seethes. “My mother doesn’t deserve to have her memory tarnished by the likes of you.”

At his words, the phantom breaks her sorrowful facade. Her eyes widen with fury, her lips pulled into a scowl.

“ _So this is how you treat me_ , _after everything I do for you_.”

“And what would that be, hmm,” he asks, guarding himself with his needle. “You were wrong about everything. Attacking everyone that so much as annoyed me, all it did was hurt me. You weren’t making me strong, made me weak. I never should have listened to you.”

She pulls back from him, her face twisting into something grotesque.

“ _Such an ungrateful_ , _vile little boy_ ! _All my life I’ve kept you alive and well, and this is how you repay me_ .” She pulls a knife from some unseen place. “ _I help you even after everything you did to me_!”

Oswald recoils at the sight of the knife. “What are you doing?” At first he fears that she plans to attack him, but then she turns the blade towards her, stabbing herself in the stomach. He stares at the display in shock. She pulls the blade out and stabs it back into herself once again. “Stop it!”

Despite his pleas, she repeats the action, again and again, blood spilling down the length of her skirts.

“ _This is your fault_ ,” she yells. “ _Look what you’ve done to me_ ! _I gave my whole life to you and you killed me_!”

“Shut up!” He shuts his eyes, throwing himself at the specter. She shrieks as his body rams into her, pushing her to the floor.

They lay there for a few moments, the only sound Oswald’s ragged breaths. Slowly, he opens his eyes to look down at her, and he doesn’t like what he sees. Her body is still, blood pooling over the several cuts along her torso, the largest of which coming from Oswald’s needle stabbed directly into her heart.

“I didn’t mean...oh my god!” He pulls the needle from her chest and scrambles to his feet. He needs something to stop the bleeding. Her turns to his bed and pulls the sheet off of it. “I-I’m sorry mother, I shouldn’t have…,” he trails off, catching sight of his weapon. The blood is gone, the needle in his hand as clean as ever. He snaps his head back to his mother’s body, except it’s no long there. He’s alone.

The needle slips from his hands, clinking against the hard floor. His body follows soon after, his pain released an anguished wail. He huddles around himself, rocking back and forth, face pinched and wet from the large tears rolling down his face.

“I’m sorry...I’m sorry...I’m sorry…”

His apologies go unheard, the room is more empty than it had ever been before. Still, he continues, knowing full well that it’s hopeless. She wasn’t coming back, not this time.

 

 

 

“I’m sane?”

Strange nods, a wide grin on his face. “I’ve just sent word to the Gotham Board of Health and Hygiene, requesting your release. All we need now is to fill out the proper paperwork. We’ll have you ready to leave by the end of the week.”

Ed stares at the other man in dismay. “So, the murder of Tom Dougherty…”

“A lapse in sanity, of course, but one that has been easily rectified,” Strange answers. “Be happy, Edward. You are as sane and normal as any citizen.” He leans in. “Miss Peabody, even.”

“Congratulations Mr. Nygma,” Peabody says from behind him.

Ed shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Something doesn’t feel right. It’s too easy.

“Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but what’s this really about? A few hours ago, you had me strapped down to a chair getting high on dopamine, and now all of a sudden I’m cured? Just like that?”

“The mind in works in mysterious ways,” Strange says. “You’ve made miraculous amounts of progress here. There’s nothing else I need to treat you for, and therefore, I am obligated to release you.”

Ed narrows his eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

Strange smiles falters slightly, but he doesn’t relent. “I understand you might have some trepidations about returning, but seeing as you’re in no further need of treatment, it would be illegal of me to keep you here any longer.”

The answer is passive, the tone of his voice is more telling. _Don’t press further if you know what’s good for you._

Whatever the real reason is for his release may be, it doesn’t matter. The reality of his situation settles in. He’s leaving Arkham.

“So that’s really it, I’m finally leaving this place?”

Strange nods. “We’ll have to take time to prepare for your exiting, of course, but that won’t be much of a problem. You still have a few days to say your goodbyes, and then you’ll be back out in the world.”

With their meeting over, the world seems to blur. He doesn’t register leaving the room, or the return back to his cell. All he can focus on is the excitement of what’s to come.

He’s done it, he’s won.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I took a little bit of dialogue from Strange’s talk with Fries. It just fit so well with the scene I couldn’t resist >>; Eh, he could’ve said it more than once.
> 
> Also in case you’re wondering, yes, the study that Strange references is a real thing. [Check it out.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZMLzP1VCANo) (It’s a bit different, but the concept is the same.)
> 
> Only one more chapter left in Part 1! See you guys next week for the conclusion~


	11. -

 

 

There are little things about Ed that Oswald hadn’t taken time to notice when he’d first met him. He wasn’t surprised they hadn’t caught his attention, they were hardly discernible, like the way he scratches behind his ear when he’s frustrated, or the way he methodically organizes each of his books and stolen puzzles beneath his bed every night. Then there were the things Oswald had definitely noticed, like the lengthy, somehow plant related explanation Ed had given him when asked why he’d ordered his belongings that way. Yeah, he’d picked up on that pretty quickly.

There were many things Oswald had learned about Edward Nygma during his stay at Arkham, and it was with an aching heart that he had come to realize that he would miss each and every one of them, because tomorrow Ed would be leaving this place.

It’d been a few days since Ed returned to their cell, a wide smile on his face as he told Oswald the _good news._ He knows he should be happy for him, even jealous perhaps, but he doesn’t feel either of those things. All he can think about is the impending solitude that he would have to face.

Ed hasn’t even left yet, and already Oswald felt the first pangs of loneliness creeping up on him. The two of them have hardly talked over the last few days, with Ed busy preparing to leave, planning how he would allocate the small payment the asylum provided for him.

“At least now you’ll have the cell to yourself, again,” Ed had joked. It was obviously meant to be harmless, but the words left him feeling empty inside. He thinks back on them every now and again, when he’s feeling his most broody... _Did Ed even care that he was leaving him here to fend for himself, surrounded by maniacs that wanted nothing to do with him? Would he even remember him once he left?_...and every time he stops himself, chastising his mind for blaming Ed that he feels this way. It’s a sad circle of loathing that never seems to end.

In the meantime, he takes what he can get before tomorrow comes and everything changes. The more he finds himself watching him, the more he realizes that man he’s been sharing his cell with all this time is not the man he once thought he was. When they’d met, Ed had been more than a little annoying with his ceaseless questioning. Most of that is still there, but it feels different somehow. It’s no longer a pain for Oswald to deal with his inquisitiveness, if anything, it’s rather endearing. It’s almost as if he’s meeting an entirely new person, and yet most of what he sees was always there to begin with.

He realizes that it isn’t just Ed that’s changed, but also his own feelings towards him. When they talk, he no longer sees it as an invasion of his privacy, he knows that Ed does it because he genuinely cares about him, still sees the worth he holds when no one else does. The thought of it alone leaves him feeling warm and fuzzy inside.

He doesn’t know how to put these emotions into words, but he does know that whatever it is, it isn’t mere friendship.

Ed needs to know, he has to tell him somehow.

 

 

 

Once they’ve returned from dinner, the last one they’ll be sharing together, Ed takes out a piece of paper he’d collected earlier. Oswald smiles to himself, noticing Ed’s somehow managed to find himself a green pen, another one of those quirks he’d miss.

Oswald watches him write for a few minutes before commenting on it. “What’s that?”

“It’s a letter I’m writing for Miss Kringle,” he replies.

Oswald’s face pales. “Miss Kringle,” he whispers.

Ed looks over at him, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just...,” he swallows, thinking of how to word himself without giving his real worries away. He doesn’t want to imagine the embarrassment he’d feel if Ed knew he was getting jealous over someone he’d never even met. “I thought you said you were moving on from her.”

Ed relaxes. “I am, I meant that,” he assures. “There’s still some things I want her to know, before we part ways for good. I think it’d bring me the closure I need.”

Oswald sighs in relief. “Yes, that makes sense.”

Ed returns to his work. Oswald waits until he’s sealed the letter away in an envelope before talking again.

“Can I ask something of you?”

“What is it?”

“Will you take care of my mother’s grave? Could you pay her a visit, let her know I’m thinking about her?”

Ed smiles. “Of course I will.”

“She likes lilies,” Oswald adds.

“Occasional visits, lilies, got it. Is there anything else you need?”

 _Don’t go. Stay here, with me. Please._ “No, I think that’ll be fine.”

Ed nods. “I asked the guards for the visiting hours schedule. I’ll come back every once in a while to fill you in on what I’ve learned.”

Oswald cocks his head. “Learned?”

“About Butch and Tabitha,” Ed says as if it’s obvious. “I figured since they wouldn’t know who I am, I’d be your man on the outside.”

Oswald sits up in surprise. “You would spy on them for me?”

“Of course,” Ed chuckles. “You didn’t think I was just going to leave you here?” When he sees the look that Oswald gives him in response, the smile drops from his face. “Oh.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” Oswald shrugs. “I’m little more than a lost cause at this point.”

Ed presses his lips together. “If that’s what you think, then I’ve been a poor friend indeed.” He moves from his bed an kneels down so that the two of them are eye to eye. “I swear to you, I will do everything I can to get you out of Arkham. I just wish I could have been of more use to you in here.”

Oswald smiles. Of course Ed wasn’t abandoning him. He silently berates himself for ever doubting him, but also takes guilty pleasure in hearing Ed’s attempts at bolstering his ego.

“No, you’ve been more than helpful,” he insists. “If it weren’t for you, I don’t know what would have happened to me.”

“You’re not still mad about me lying about the plan, are you,” Ed asks sheepishly.

“I admit, it’s still a little raw, but I think you’re right, there’s not much I could do right now,” he says. “It’s better this way, if you’re acting as my spy, we can figure a way to deal with Butch and his gang. I just hope in the future, you’ll consider being honest with me from the start.”

Ed smiles. “It won’t happen again,” he says. He places each of his hands onto Oswald’s shoulders. “I meant what I said, Oswald, I would do anything for you.”

Oswald places a hand on one of Ed’s arms. “Then make them pay.”

“I will,” Ed smiles. It isn’t one of those goofy smiles that he’s used to, instead it’s callous and sinister, the sight of it sends a hard jolt of something dark through Oswald’s body.

_What if he kissed him, right here and now?_

The sudden thought stuns him, and he quickly pushes it to the side. It’s not normal, the timing isn’t right.

They stare at one another, eye to eye, Oswald overly aware of the heat of Ed’s arm beneath his hand.

...

Then again, what is _normal_ in here? Fortune favors the brave, isn’t that the saying? Why shouldn’t he go for it? After all, look what happened the last time he let a good thing go. He won’t make that mistake twice.

“Ed…”

The malicious gaze has dropped from Ed’s face, returned to his regular inquisitive one, eyes wide and curious. Oswald lifts his other hand, wanting more than anything to caress the man’s cheek, and then...

He pulls down on Ed’s arms, wrapping his own around Ed’s chest.

“I’m gonna miss you,” he mumbles over his shoulder.

Ed hesitates for a moment, before he returns the hug. “We won’t be separated for long,” he says, giving him a gentle pat on the back.

“No, we won’t,” he agrees, though he doesn’t know if he believes that. He curses inwardly at his own cowardice, but still, the embrace is good. If he squeezes a little too tightly, that’s no one’s business but his own.

 

**.**

**.**

 

Peabody walks the sterile halls of the facility, inspecting each of the rooms for any straggling technicians. So far, everyone has been accounted for. The halls echo with their usual sounds, soft crying, a few growls when she passes by, muffled rock emanating from Fries’s cell, nothing out of the ordinary.

It appears the facility is empty, save for one room at the end of the hall, light from the blood lab still shining brightly through the corridor. It’s suspicious, everyone knows their policy on working overtime without notice. She quietly walks over to the lab, relaxing when she finds her boss leaned over one of the desks.

“I didn’t realize you were still down here.”

“I won’t be much longer,” Strange says, looking over some of his notes. “How’s progress been with the Tetch samples?”

She pulls one of the test tubes from the freezer and hands it to him. “Our hematologists have been working on isolating the proteins that alter behavior, but they have to observe how the virus interacts with foreign blood first in case the convergence mutates the DNA.”

“To think, a few chemicals in the bloodstream could extract the deepest thoughts from one’s own subconscious.” He examines the vial of blood, black underneath the lab’s fluorescent lights. “Can you imagine it, Peabody? A world where any person could take a small shot and some pills, and all of their troubles would be gone forever.” He sighs contently. “I think that day will be upon us soon enough.”

Peabody’s face drops into her usual frown. “Are you sure letting Nygma go is the best decision?”

“Not really, he’s an experiment,” Strange admits.

“He’s a cop-killer, there will be complaints from the policeman’s union when they hear of his release.”

“People are afraid of progress, yet somehow, we keep progressing,” he says, placing the vial back into the freezer, one of many stacked side-by-side. “Mr. Nygma has served us well, but if he stayed any longer, he would only be a distraction. They’ll find out when they find out, and any outcry will soon pass.”

Peabody raises a brow. “When they find out,” she echos. “So you aren’t planning to alert the police?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary. The man was hardly much of a threat to begin with, I doubt he’ll be enough of a problem for them to get involved.”

“I assume you’ve already listened to today’s recordings,” she asks, and Strange nods. “Then you know Nygma has taken interest in Butch Gilzean’s organization. I think that’s more than enough reason to keep a closer eye-”

“That’s enough input, Miss Peabody,” Strange snaps. “Cobblepot is at the prime state for behavioral therapy, I must work with him while his mind is still malleable. I don’t have time to worry about any further involvement on Nygma’s part. I’d rather have one madman out on the streets than two of them kept together. Do you understand?”

Peabody takes a deep breath and rolls her eyes, but says nothing more as she exits the lab.

It’s as good enough of an answer as he’s going to get. He doesn’t blame her for being mad, he knows his interests lie away from the Court’s plan. Every detour he takes is risky, but his duties lie in his work and the benefit of mankind before the needs of any secret society.

He finishes with his notes and places them in one of the drawers next to one of the pill bottles before leaving the lab and shutting off the lights.

 

**.**

**.**

 

Ed takes a few moments adjusting his suit, making sure everything is buttoned correctly and smoothing out the months old fold lines. It feels tight on his body, a far cry from the itchy jumpsuit he’d become accustomed to. That last time he’d worn it was in a courtroom, not one of his fonder memories, but still, it feels good to wear something more than cheap pajamas.

There’s nothing left for him to do here, he’s already packed everything he owns, which isn’t much. He has the books he’s stolen from the rec room, and of course, his letter. He fidgets with his appearance, but he knows it won’t be noticed by any of the others. He knows he’s just stalling for time at this point, still not convinced this whole thing is a dream that he’ll be waking up from.

The thought of leaving has made him anxious throughout the week. Everything he’d left behind has probably been sold off, so he’s returning to nothing once he’s back in the city. He needs to find a job, a place to live, a complete restart from the life he was living. The thought of it all is as terrifying as it is exciting. He’s been given the chance to reinvent himself as he sees fit, and he plans to make the most of it.

He looks himself over in the room’s mirror. He looks different, not so much in his physique, but something has changed in the reflection looking back at him. It’s more reserved, confident, and far less hateful than he last remembered. When he sees himself, he’s met not with jarring curses and malice, but rather a blissful silence. He tilts his head to the side, and the reflection does the same, as it should.

He takes one last glance over himself and sighs, picking up his briefcase and leaving the room.

He walks down the halls unaccompanied, walking past the gated rooms at his own leisure. Some of the other inmates wave as he passes by, and he receives a few envious stares along the way, but most of them aren’t bothered. He reaches the end of the hall, a guard opens the door permitting him to the waiting room, the only thing separating him from the rest of the world.

Oswald is sitting there on one of the benches. He’s been on his best behavior the whole week, probably the first time in his life he’s ever been that mellow. As a reward, they’ve allowed him open access for the morning so that the two of them can say their goodbyes. Upon Ed’s arrival, he stands from his seat.

Ed smiles wide, giving him a pose. “How do I look,” he asks.

Oswald looks him once over. “Good, very good,” he answers quietly.

“Nothing like a guy that’s just left a mental institution,” he asks playfully.

“No, definitely not,” Oswald agrees. “How are you feeling?”

“A bit stressed to be honest,” Ed admits. “All I’ve been thinking about since I got here was what I would do once I got out, but that’s all been thrown out the window. I can’t tell you the last time I went into something without a plan first.“

“Sometimes it’s best not to plan, I think,” Oswald says. “Plans tend to be too rigid, you need to be able to improvise if something happens when you don’t expect it to.”

Ed nods. “You’re right, details can be distracting,” he sighs. “Thank you again for helping me, I’ve learned so much from you.”

“Please, you don’t need to thank me for talking about myself for two months,” Oswald huffs.

They both stand there waiting for the escort team to arrive when Oswald breaks the silence.

“Before you head out, there’s something I want to tell you,” he says, voice serious. Ed waits for him to continue, but nothing happens. Oswald continues staring at him, his mouth hanging slack.

“What is it, Oswald,” he asks after a moment, but he just shakes his head.

“You know what, I forget,” he laughs. ”In and out of my head, just like that. Don’t you hate it when that happens?”

“That never happens to me,” Ed replies flatly.

“You know what, I believe that,” he chuckles, although there’s no humor in his voice, only hints of sadness. Ed doesn’t miss the slight quiver in his lips. _He really is going to miss me_ , he thinks fondly.

“I am often said in sorrow, sometimes in glee, as I signal the end of what’s proceeded me,” he says, holding his hand out. “...But I do not think that this is the end for us, my friend. We’ll meet again.”

Oswald accepts the handshake with a small, understanding smile.

“Goodbye, Ed.”

“Goodbye, Oswald,” he smiles back.

Oswald nods, dully, still holding onto Ed’s hand. “Goodbye, Ed,” he says again, staring blankly at him. His voice is low and shaky.

Ed furrows his brows. “Are you okay?”

Oswald doesn’t give him an answer, just chuckles nervously before wincing at his own oddness. Ed watches on in concern as an array of emotion passes over his face until it finally settles on something akin to surrender.

“Fuck it.”

Before Ed can ask, Oswald grabs hold of his tie and pulls him down so that they’re standing face to face. He feels Oswald drop his hand and places his own at the back of his head, followed by a pair of chapped lips lightly pressed against his own. The whole thing is short and clipped, he doesn’t even register what’s happening before they’ve both pulled away from one another.

Oswald weakly releases his hold on Ed, his hands jittery and face pale. Neither of them moves from their spot, frozen in place with shock. They stare at one another, each of them waiting for the other to say something, but nothing comes. For the first time in a while, Ed is speechless, his cheeks flushed, his chest pounding. Oswald isn’t looking much better himself, almost like he’s about to throw up.

Neither man finds the right time to say anything before the alarm buzzes, signalling the arrival of Ed’s escorts, snapping them both out of the moment. Ed hastily readjusts himself, smoothing out his jacket again and pushing his glasses up. Oswald looks away, ducking his head, his limbs hanging loosely at his sides.

Ed turns to face the trio entering the cell. Miss Peabody and one of the guards ready themselves to guide him out towards the entrance, while the other guard moves past him.

“Are you ready,” Peabody asks.

“I…” Ed glances back at Oswald for one last look, but he’s already shuffling back down the hall, the other guard at his side. He doesn’t look back before the door slams shut behind him. Ed clears his throat. “Y-yes,” he stutters, turning back to her. “Yes, I’m ready.”

He takes the time he gets walking through the facility to wrap his mind around what’s just happened. He’d noticed Oswald had been acting strangely the whole week, but he’d always assumed it was because he was anxious from the impending changes. It never once crossed his mind that anything so affectionate or...romantic could be happening. He wonders how long Oswald had felt this way without him noticing. There’s so many thoughts running through his head, his mind bundles together into a tangled mess, and for once it’s not a bad feeling to have.

His thoughts dissipate as soon as the front doors are opened, the cool, fresh air hitting his face in a light breeze. It’s the first time since he’s been here that he’s been outside of the stuffy, overheated rooms. Strange is waiting for him at the entrance, a yellow cab pulling in through the gate. It takes a few, hesitant steps through the yard for him to finally accept that it’s all happening, he really is standing only a few feet away from his freedom.

“Congratulations Edward,” Strange says as he hands Ed his certificate. It looks good enough to frame, something I might be accepted as a distinguished achievement to the passing eye. In fact, he just might do that, it checks decoration off of his endless list of things to do. “You are the first person to be released under our management, and we hope to see you make a smooth integration back into society. Keep that in mind.”

Ed narrows his eyes, not missing the threat in Strange’s voice. “I will.”

“The driver will see you to your hotel, and then you’ll be on your own.” The driver opens the cab’s door. “Good luck,” he adds before he and Peabody leave with the guard.

It takes Ed longer than it should to finally make his way over to the cab. Something at the back of his mind whispers at him to stay. He makes a mental check of everything he needs to do, everything he’s already done. There’s nothing more for him to do here, the sooner he leaves, the sooner he can begin to rebuild.

...And the sooner Oswald will be free.

He throws his bag down and scoots into his seat, giving the facility one last look before he closes the door.

 

 

 

Oswald watches through the dusty windows until the taxi disappears down the road, hands clamped down onto the frame. His body feels lighter than air, like he’s going to float away the moment he lets go.

For the whole week he’d been fearing this day, but now he feels content by it. There’s no secrets left between them, they’re not parting as acquaintances so easily forgotten. All he could do now was hope Ed felt the same.

 _Maybe he didn’t,_ his mind supplies, _maybe he’d just ruined everything between them. Afterall, Ed didn’t seem overly excited when Oswald had kissed him._

Only now when the time's long past does he think of all the things he should have said. Had they been at his mansion back in Gotham, Oswald would have made it perfect. He would have waited until the sun had set, had one of the chef’s put together a feast just for the two of them, the light of a fire and a few candles to set the mood right...But he didn’t have any of those things, and sometimes life isn’t perfect.

He takes a deep breath, counting to ten. Just because Ed hadn’t reciprocated didn’t mean he’d offended the man. It surprised him, even Oswald had been surprised by his own actions, and his behavior wasn’t abnormal for such situations. Ed was right, again, the details were too distracting. He wanted Ed to know how he felt, and now he did. For now, it was fine, a nice memory for him to hold on to.

The office doors creak open, and he pulls himself away from the window.

“Mr. Cobblepot, have a seat,” Strange says as he enters the room. Oswald does as he asks as Strange sits down at his desk.

“We haven’t talked much since you’ve been here, I thought I’d check in with you,” he explains. “I imagine you’ve been distressed with Mr. Nygma’s release.”

Oswald shrugs. “Why would I be?”

“I already know the two of you were quite close, there’s no need to pretend otherwise.”

And drops the cold pretense.

“I worry for him, I guess,” he admits. “He’s going back out there with nothing, he has a lot of struggles he’ll need to face.”

“Oh, I think he’ll do just fine. After all, he seemed to be doing well enough in here.”

“That’s true,” Oswald says. The words should be comforting, but it only reminds him of how little use he has as long as he remains here. “...but if he ever does need help, he knows I here.”

Strange scoffs. “He doesn’t need you, does he? What have you offered him, a few worthless sentiments? What good is advice when the one that gives it can’t even follow it?”

Oswald is taken aback by the sudden shift in the conversation, his jaw hanging slack.

“I agree that Edward will visit you, perhaps out of pity, but over time, he’ll come to realize that you no longer have any use. You’re too violent, too much of a burden to deal with. He’ll start pulling away, and eventually he’ll forget about you, just like everyone else already has.” Strange leans in, the gleeful malice in his eyes just barely hidden behind his glasses. “Sooner or later, you must face the truth. You are alone.”

He doesn’t have anything to say to that. What hurts more than hearing the words spoken aloud is knowing that there’s truth behind them. There’s nothing Oswald has left that Ed needs. What’s to keep him from running off and never coming back?

...But then he remembers Ed’s face when he had promised to break him out. He alone had seen the look in Ed’s eyes when he’d promised to do anything for him. There was no deceit, nothing insincere. No, Ed wouldn’t do that to him, he would come back for him.

Oswald doesn’t shy away under Strange’s gaze. He knows what’s going on, Strange is trying to break through his resolve. He might not have much left to his name, but he still has what he needs to fight back.

“He’s my friend,” Oswald seethes,”...and he is going to take away from you and this wretched place. He promised.”

“Ah, but words are meaningless among dishonorable men,” Strange says.

Oswald stills at the familiar words. The room suddenly feels small and cramped, the heat becoming intolerable.

“Maybe you aren’t ready to accept the truth now, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve already designed a solution for your problem.” He presses the button to one of the intercoms on his desk. “We’re ready to proceed.”

Two guards enter the room, one of them holding a straight jacket in his hands. He’s been restrained many times over the last few months, but something feels different this time.

Oswald stands abruptly, filled with panic at the thought of what they’re planning to do with him. After everything he’d been through, he’d almost forgotten the sight of those creatures writhing around in the basement, but now those memories are back, hitting him at full force.

“No,” he snaps. The guards take hold of him, forcing him into the jacket as he struggles to pull away. “I won’t let you turn me into one of those freaks!”

“You’re referring to my confidential patients,” Strange says, mildly insulted by the remark. “No, I would not count you among them, you have not earned that honor. I have something else in mind for you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And that’s all for Part 1! \o/
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who’s read, kudosed, and commented so far. You’ve been wonderful <3
> 
> I’m going to take a small break from this fic before I start writing Part 2. I’ll see you then~


	12. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back to this semi-regularly scheduled nonsense. Starts immediately after from where Part 1 left off.

 

 

By the time Ed’s back in the city, the blue skies have given way to Gotham’s usual overcast and rain has started to fall. He isn’t drenched yet, but he’s starting to get uncomfortably moist as his hair and clothes begin to matte down against his body. He’ll have to add buying an umbrella and raincoat to his ever growing list of things he needs to do.

The cab had dropped him off at the hotel, a seedy place in the middle of the Narrows, but he’s yet to check in. There’s still something he has to do before he can finally move on and start his life over. As soon as the cab was gone, he began his walk towards his real destination, a small brownstone just a few blocks from the train station.

He’s relieved of the rain when he reaches the underpass, the screeching of train tracks overhead signalling that he’s nearing his destination. He tries not to crumple the envelope in his hands as his grip tightens in anxiousness.

When he arrives at the townhouse, he finds himself standing there, staring at it from across the street. The last time he stood at this spot was the night he killed Dougherty, the first time he’d let his true self breakthrough. He can almost feel the weight of Dougherty’s body, heavy and limp as he stabbed the knife into his chest. He takes his time savoring the moment as the nervousness of seeing Kristen again starts to build in his chest.

What does one say when they’re reunited with the love of their life who also simultaneously turned them into the police for murder? There’s not much for him to reference from. He’s already wasted a few minutes of doing nothing before he starts practicing what he’ll say to her.

“Kristen, I know this is a shock, but just hear me out...“ _God, that sounds so desperate_ , he thinks, _I’d freak her out before she’d ever consider listening to me…_ He takes a deep breath and tries again.

“Hello Kristen,” he chuckles. “You probably weren’t expecting to see me again…” Was that too casual? If he did that she’d think he was making light of the situation and get mad. “No, no…” He squeezes his hands over his eyes, trying to think.

He needs to move soon, standing alone in the street talking into the air might be enough to draw suspicion to himself. The last thing he needs is having the cops called on him and getting shipped back to Arkham. Then again, if he messes up and scares her, the outcome will be much the same...

Maybe he doesn’t have to talk to her, there was nothing to say did. He could just leave the note and run off, hide behind a parked car and see what she does with it.

With that thought in mind, he straightens himself out and makes a beeline towards the door. A car honks at him as he passes through the street, but he doesn’t pause, the high of determination the only thing keeping him from turning back. He climbs the staircase and places the note on the doormat.

His hand hangs above the door, ready to knock, but a realization stops him. This could very well be the last time he ever sees her again. Does he really want to end things like this, running and hiding like a coward? Maybe a few months ago that would have been fine with him, but that’s not going to happen today. He’ll speak his piece, and whatever vitriol she has for him, he can take it.

_No thinking. No planning. Just figure it out in the moment._

He readies himself again, but before he can bring his fist down, the door swings open.

The man opening it is most definitely not Kristen.

“The hell’re you doin’ on my stairs?”

“Um…Hello. Who’re you?”

“What d’ya mean who am I? I live here, who the hell are you,” the guy says.

Ed takes another look over the man in front of him. He looks like your average deadbeat, beer gut, stained wife-beater, the whole lot of it. He hopes this isn’t Kristen’s new boyfriend. She doesn’t have the highest standards in men, but this was a bit low, even for her.

“You checkin’ me out or somethin’? Get out of here, creep!”

The gruff voice breaks Ed from his daze. He bends back down and retrieves the letter.

“I’m sorry, there’s been some confusion. Does Kristen Kringle still live here?”

“Never heard of em’,” the man says and Ed sighs in relief.

“I’m looking for the woman who used to live here. You wouldn’t happen to have her new address, would you?”

The man leans into the door frame. “Didn’t leave one, the owner wanted to get out of town quick.”

“Oh...” That’s it then, she’s gone. The disappointment sinks into him like the rain on his clothes, his body heavy and numb.

He thinks over his options, maybe she’s still working at the police station, and if not, they’d still have her information in the system. If he wanted, he could track her down, find her new residence and talk to her there...But what good would it do now? She clearly wanted to be as far away from him as possible, there’s no reason for him to even try seeking her out.

The man clears his throat, annoyed. “Are we done here?”

Ed gives him a sad smile. “I’m sorry I’ve bothered you. It won’t happen again.”

“Whatever, just get out of here, yeah?”

The man slams the door shut in his face, leaving Ed out in the cold to sulk. The anger bubbling in his chest soothes away the some of the sadness, replacing it with something dark and vicious. He considers knocking again and choking the man out when he answers, but resists the urge and walks back down the steps. There’s always time for that later.

He looks down at the soaked envelope in his hands, the ink blotchy and unreadable. Without thinking, he pulls against the sides of the envelope as it tears in half. He watches the halved pieces fall to the ground through fogged glass, follows them as the small stream takes them through the street and down the nearest storm drain.

With Kristen gone, there’s no more loose ends for him to tie. He bitterly accepts that there’s nothing holding him back. He takes one last look at the house as he walks away, taking his first steps towards his new life.

 

**.**

**.**

 

It’s surreal being back in the city after nearly half a year. The world feels alive and breathing, nothing like the forced, mechanical pulse that emanates through Arkham. Despite the large crowds, the streets feel open and free. The air is oily and thick, the scent of human life abundant in the atmosphere, something absent from the asylum’s sterile halls. The wind on his skin is real, not stale air piped into rooms lit with cold fluorescence.

The people passing by pay no attention to him...But that was good, wasn’t it? His crimes have been forgotten, there’s no stigma against him from any of these strangers. He could slip by them all, completely unnoticed.

Still, something deep inside him wishes that at least one of these people did recognize him, maybe even recoil at the sight of him. He’s still a murderer after all, they should be more than eager to stay in his good graces, but they ignore him now just as before. In time, that will change.

The first thing he needs to do is find Butch Gilzean. He’ll take up a job in one of his gangs and then...do something. He’s yet to work out the finer details of his plan, but that will all come later. He can’t do anything more until he finds his place in the underworld.

As he makes his way back to the Narrows, he passes through the line of stalls at market street. He hasn’t eaten at all today, his stomach churns at the smell of real food. The produce he passes is rich and fresh, not stale or on the verge of rotting. He continues down the row but stops in his tracks when he sees Detective Gordon looking over one of the stands.

His first instinct is to run. If he realized where Ed had been coming from...No, he couldn’t know. He’s far enough away from her house, Gordon wouldn’t make that connection. He’s been released, he has nothing to hide, the only thing that would give him away is if he made himself look guilty. He’s so distracted by his thoughts that it’s already too late for him to hide when he realizes that Gordon is staring directly at him.

“Ed?”

He steadies himself, trying to take on the appearance of calm and collected as Gordon walks up to him. “Hello Detective,” he says with a forced smile. “What brings you here?”

“I’m on my lunch break, though I think I should be the one asking you that.” Gordon takes hold of his arm and pulls him into the alleyway nearby, out of earshot from an curious people passing by. “Why aren’t you at Arkham?”

“Well,” he replies, eyes shifting down to his suitcase. “I’m here because I’ve been released.”

Gordon looks him over, dubious. “I haven’t heard anything about it. Shouldn’t you have been assigned a parole officer?”

At that, Ed realizes Strange must not have informed anyone about his release. It makes sense, given the manner of his work, Ed suspects he wants as little involvement with the police as possible. He thinks about telling Gordon about what Strange has been up to, but an investigation would take to long, and Strange would know it was him that talked.

He’ll play along for now. It does, however, put him in the awkward position of explaining himself.

“I’m supposed to report back to Professor Strange once a week,” he lies. “Due to my good behavior at the hospital, they decided I wouldn’t require an officer to look after me.”

“Is that so…” Gordon doesn’t sound convinced, but when has he ever been?

“You can call up Professor Strange if you want. I’m completely sane, got a certificate to prove it, too.”

“No kidding.” For a split second, Ed fears that Gordon might take him down to the station as a precaution, but nothing happens. The silence has stretched long enough when Ed decides to take his leave.

“I should get going,” he starts, but is interrupted by his own stomach rumbling.

“You got someplace you can eat,” Gordon asks, raising a brow.

“I can figure something out.”

Gordon gives him a look. “That’s not a yes.” He nods towards the end of the street. “C’mon, there’s a diner a few blocks from here. I’ll buy you lunch.”

“That’s very kind of you, Detective Gordon, but I can get by on my own.”

“Humor me,” he says, giving Ed a light tap on the shoulder. “It’ll give us time to catch up.”

It’s a test, he knows it is. Gordon only wants to talk so that he see how much he’s really changed, take any chance he can to send him back. That isn’t happening.

“Alright,” he concedes, letting Gordon guide him away.

 

 

 

Ed takes another bite out of his sandwich as Gordon looks over the certificate again. It’s just a regular ham and cheese on white bread, but the flavors explode in his mouth, a far cry from the tasteless slop they got at Arkham.

“So, they really fixed you up in there?”

“It would seem so,” he says between bites.

“It doesn’t sound like you’re all that excited for it,” Gordon says, handing him back the certificate. “You’re the one that was getting treated, how are you feeling about all of this?”

Ed takes a break from his meal to look at Gordon, his gaze as serious as can be.

“Detective, I can tell you with full honesty that I’ve never felt better. The Professor gave me a whole new perspective of myself. I’ve come to realize that I’ve spent my whole life repressing who I really am, and all that’s amounted to is hurting myself and others. Starting today, I’m turning my life around and working on making a better me.”

In his own ears, it sounds too rehearsed and cheesy, but when he looks at Gordon, he’s smiling, and it’s genuine too.

“You know what, I’m proud of you Ed. There’s not a lot of people out there that can back from something like this.”

 _You would know, wouldn’t you._ “Thanks Detective Gordon, that means a lot, coming from you.”

Jim snorts. “We’ve known each other for over a year, Ed, you can call me Jim.”

“Alright then, _Jim_ ,” Ed says, with a small smile. “...And how is Dr. Thompkins?”

Jim shifts in his seat. “She’s fine,” he says, but Ed doesn’t miss the tightness in his voice. “We’re actually starting a family soon.”

“Oh?” He tries his best to sound surprised. “Congratulations. The two of you must be thrilled.”

“The timing hasn’t been great, there’s been a lot going on the past few months.”

Ed pauses midchew as he realizes what Jim is referring to, quickly swallows the bite.

“Oh yes, you mean that thing with Mayor Galavan getting killed. I remember hearing something about that. That must have been awful for you, having to go through with that hearing, and so publicly too.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Jim sighs. “People make up their mind without even hearing the facts, and even then they still assume the worst. After the hearing, Barnes was still convinced that I’d done it.”

“It’s lucky, Penguin came forward with his confession,” Ed supplies.

“Yeah.” Jim tenses at hearing the name. “He’s not the most honest person, but at least there’s still some honor left in him.”

“Why did they even suspect you in the first place? Were you a witness?”

“No,” Jim replies quickly. “I wasn’t anywhere near the scene when it happened.”

There haven’t been many times in his life that Ed has witnessed someone lie directly to his face. Usually, people tended to be more blunt with him. It’s intriguing to say the least, regardless of the low flame of anger burning beneath his skin. He doesn’t let it show, of course.

“...And to think they almost sent you away in his place. Imagine that, you imprisoned for something someone else did.”

To his credit, Jim does look a tad guilty at the accusation, but he could always do better.

“When I was in Arkham, I spent everyday surrounded by murderers. It takes a special kind of person to go through with something like that, someone sick and diseased. You’re not like those people. You would never do that, kill in cold blood.”

“Thanks,” Jim replies brusquely.

“I always knew the rumors weren’t true,” Ed says, lightly shaking his head. “Sooner or later, the truth will always be revealed.”

There’s an unnamable emotion that flits across Jim’s face. It’s something that would go unnoticed to anyone that wasn’t looking for it, but Ed is, and he relishes the sight. It paints a picture of the constant fear of what would happen if he was found out, all the fights he must have been having with Thompkins over it. Of course she would know. If he hadn’t told her himself, she would have figured it out on her own, she was smart like that.

“Although,” he continues. “I imagine all this stress has taken its toll on the good doctor, given the condition she’s in.”

“It’s been rough, but we’re working through it,” Jim replies. “We’re planning on getting married once the baby’s born.”

“Expecting and engaged, double congrats then. I hope the two of you have a lovely wedding.”

“Maybe I’ll see you there,” Jim says, offering a small smile.

“I appreciate the invitation, but we both know I wouldn’t be welcome,” he says with a lopsided grin. “...And besides, Dr. Thompkins wouldn’t be happy about it.”

“C’mon Ed, Lee doesn’t hate you or anything,” Jim sighs. “It was a shock for her, yes, but she’ll come around. She’s not the type of person to hold a grudge.”

“You really think that?”

“I do. If anything, she’d be more mad if she heard you thought a little stress would get to her,” he replies, cracking a smile.

“I suppose you’re right,” Ed replies with a smile of his own.

They continue the rest of their meal, Gordon telling him about everything that’s happened at the station since he left. He explains the incident with Dr. Freeze, finally clearing up what was going on at Arkham that day, there’s some mentioning on finding the real killer behind the Wayne murders. From the way he’s talking, it sounds like he’s still trying to unravel the mystery, and it’s no surprise. After all, if it was a hit man that killed them, somebody else must have hired them to do it.

Ed notices, once or twice, that he’s being very careful about avoiding any mention of Kristen. For a brief moment, Ed considers asking about her, but decides against it. There’s no way for him to bring her up without looking like an obsessive stalker. He needs to get her out of his mind, it’s best if he tries to forget about her.

“How long are you planning to stay,” Jim asks as they’re finishing up.

“I’ve got a hotel I’ll be rooming at until I can get a job, then I’ll try to find someplace to rent. The Narrows has some cheaper options, I’ll look around there.”

Jim furrows his brows. “You’re not leaving Gotham?”

“I wasn’t planning on it, no,” Ed replies slowly. “Is that a problem?”

Jim shrugs. “I guess that’s your choice, but I would try to keep a low profile. Dougherty had a few friends that are still on the force. You wouldn’t want to get their attention.”

“I understand,” Ed replies. He doesn’t tell Jim that he doesn’t care about a few mindless thugs coming after him. If they’re as shady as Dougherty or Flass were, they’ll probably work for him someday.

Once they’ve finished, they leave the diner. The rain has started to subside, a soft peal of thunder echos in the distance.

“Though formless, I can clap and roll. The strongest of men fear my toll,” Ed says under his breath.

“Some things never change,” Gordon remarks, although the tone in his voice is that of endearment rather than annoyance. “Good luck to you, Ed,” he says, waving him off. As he watches Jim walk away, it feels as if a weight has lifted from him. He hadn’t planned on running into him, but in truth, he’s glad he did. It was… enlightening to say the least.

He only makes a few steps from the diner before he realizes he’s forgotten something.

“Wait,” he calls out, and Jim stops. “Do you know any good flower shops around here?”

 

**.**

**.**

 

It takes him a while to find the right headstone, one of many in this tiny, cramped cemetery. By the time he’s found her, the rain has slowed to a light drizzle.

It’s not the worst location, there’s a tree nearby that might look nice when it blooms in the spring, but there’s nothing special about it. The headstone is simple granite with very little in the engraving, not something one would expect for the mother of the cities most notorious crime lord. Once he’s out of Arkham, Oswald would probably do more to celebrate her, maybe move her farther away and have her headstone embellished.

He’s brought a single, white lily he bought from the shop Gordon had suggested. There isn’t much point of spending money on a full bouquet when the groundskeepers will throw them away afterwards, especially if he has to make these visits monthly...weekly? How often is one expected to visit a grave? It doesn’t matter, it’s not like she’s going anywhere any time soon.

“Hello...Miss Kapelput,” he says, reading the engraveing. “You don’t know me, my name’s Edward Nygma. I’m a friend of Oswald’s.” He places the flower on the grass in front of the tombstone. “I never met you, and based on recent events I can’t say I have an elevated opinion of you, but Oswald has told me many good stories about you and everything you did for him, so I’ll take his word for it.”

There’s no response, obviously, he’s basically talking to a rock after all. He’s used to talking to himself by now, but it never ceases to make him feel silly.

“He’s doing well,” he starts again. “Actually no he’s not, that’s not true, he’s in an asylum for murder...But given the less than desirable circumstances, I’d say he’s doing alright. He stopped attacking people for no reason, that’s good. I’m working on getting him out, maybe by the time I’ve figured that out, he’ll have worked through his anger issues.”

He leans back onto the grave behind him.

“I’d think you’d already know most of this stuff. I mean, assuming spirits and other paranormal phenomena were real, I’d think you’d be able to watch over him someway. What’s the point of even talking to you about it?”

Silence, again. Ed sighs. “I’m sorry, I’m probably boring you. Honestly, I don’t really know what I’m doing here,” he confides. “I’ve never had to do this before.”

“You’re doing well enough so far.”

Ed twists his head around, finding himself in the company of an older gentleman thoroughly amused by the conversation. He pulls himself off the grave as the man takes a few steps towards him.

“Terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to leave some flowers for her,” he says. The bouquet he’s holding has a number of white lilies mixed with a few darker callas and some baby’s breath. The display makes Ed’s single bloom look pitiful by comparison.

“I see you brought lilies too,” he remarks.

“Her favorite if memory serves,” the man says, placing them down on the grass next to Ed’s.

“You knew her,” Ed asks.

“A long time ago. I found her again only in death, I’m afraid,” he sighs. He takes a moment to stare at the tombstone, sad eyes lost in memory, before looking back at Ed and holding his hand out. “Elijah Van Dahl.”

“Edward Nygma,” he replies, taking the handshake.

“You’re right, you know, about her watching over us,” the man says. “I lived my whole life in a house filled with spirits. Even in death, they’re always around to see us through hard times.”

“Is that so,” Ed replies halfheartedly, resisting the urge to inform this man that ghosts aren’t actually real.

”Even so, it’s always nice to pay her a visit in return, let her know she isn’t alone.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Ed says, although he isn’t sure if he believes it. A dead body can’t be lonely, it doesn’t have the sentience to feel it.

“I don’t believe I’ve asked, how did you know Gertrud?”

Ed shrugs. “Only in conversation, I’m here on her son’s behalf.”

“Son?” The man’s eyes widen. “Gertrud has a son?”

“Yeah, Oswald Cobblepot, you’ve heard of him?” The man shakes his head. That’s weird, there’s not a whole lot of people in Gotham that wouldn’t shudder at that name. “He and I were in-”

“Are you both the same age?”

Ed cocks his head, it’s an odd question. “I don’t know. I’m sure he’s older than me, perhaps in his early thirties?”

The man takes a step back in shock. “Did he ever mention anything about the rest of his family? His father or...”

Ed shakes his head. “He told me his father died when he was a baby, but that’s it.”

There’s an unsettling pause as the man’s attention drifts back to the grass below. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was,” Ed asks, but the man doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to him anymore, staring intensely at the grave.

“Gertrud left thirty one years ago...the timing’s too close...it can’t be a coincidence,” he mutters under his breath. “Oh my God, she never told me…”

“Never told you what?”

The man looks back up, his expression still surprised, but calmer than before. “...that I had a son.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, we’re moving on from Arkham and into Gotham. Don’t worry, we’ll be getting back to Oswald in the next chapter ;)


	13. -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. I’m actually back this time.
> 
> The next few chapters should be updated regularly again.

 

 

_ You are alone. _

It’s the same voice that greets him every time, the painfully familiar voice of his mother, though he knows it isn’t really her. His mother was dead, and the flimsy replica of her hadn’t shown herself since their confrontation.

His face lies hard against the floor of his cell, a feeling that he’s become well accustomed to. Strange’s treatment, the details of which forever alude him, leave him with dizzying vertigo. The spinning of the room is too much for him to handle, and can’t find it in him to drag himself onto the cot. There’s little else he can do other than lie down and wait for the sickness to pass, the voices taunting him all the while.

At first, he fought against their poisonous words. Then he tried to blocking them out when they refused to relent, but the only made themselves louder. Now he finds himself too tired to do either, and the more he listens, the less he can deny that the things they say are not untrue.

He was alone. His mother had abandoned him, as had his men. Now Ed too was gone from him, leaving him to rot alone in this prison.

_ They betrayed you. _

Ed had promised him that he would come back for him and free him from this Hell, but so much time had passed and he had yet to return. They’re hadn’t even been any letters, no sign at all that Ed cared for the man he once called friend.

It was probably for the better, Ed could move on with his life without having to worry over his long forgotten companion. It’s what he’d asked of him, he shouldn’t feel so angry about it. Still, the fact that Ed had lied stings him. It’s his own fault, he should have known better than to let that false hope inside.

_ Unlovable. _

How much longer would he be forced to endure this torment? Why was it even happening?

Perhaps he isn’t being treated at all, it’s just Strange playing with whatever concoctions they have laying around. He’s become nothing more than a discarded prisoner for them to use as their personal guinea pig.

After some time, the dizziness begins to fade away. A new voice sounds off from the clamor, reverberating throughout the room. “B113...”

When his eyes finally come to focus, he sees a guard standing at the entrance to his cell. 

“B113, come with me.”

“What for,” he slurs.

“You have a visitor.” The guard pulls him up to his feet, taking him out of the cell and down to the visitor’s center.

When the guard pushes him into the room, he’s greeted by familiar, cheery face.

“Ed?”

“Hello Oswald.”

He shuffles over to his seat, leaning in as far as he can. Looking at him this close, he knows he isn’t imagining it.

“Thank God you’re here, I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Why not,” Ed chuckles. “I told you I’d come visit.”

“Yes, but I didn’t think the wait would be so unbearable.” Ed cocks his head to the side, confused. “Where were you? I waited so long for you to come back. All those weeks passed by without any word. Why didn’t you come sooner?”

Ed takes the question with concern. “Oswald, I’ve only been gone for one day.”

“...Oh.” Time must be passing by slower than he thought.

Ed sighs. “I’ll try to visit as often as I can. I haven’t finalized anything yet, but I think I’ve figured out a way for us to meet regularly.”

Oswald purses his lips together, seeing Ed before him once again filling him with a sudden determination. “There’s been something on my mind, something I can’t keep it a secret any longer. I tried to hold it back, not daring to think it could be real, but one cannot deny love...” 

He tenses at his own words, the truth slipping out. Ed shifts awkwardly in his seat, not an encouraging sight. A small part of him begs for him to laugh it off as a joke and stop from making it worse, but there’s no turning back now. His feelings were true, even if they may never be returned in kind.

“I’ve felt it before, though I’ve never felt it to this extent. You mean so much more to me than a friend.”

“Yes, I know, you made that very clear,” Ed says plainly.

He blinks. “I did?”

“You don’t remember,” Ed asks, Oswald shakes his head. “Well, before I left, you met me at the waiting room, we said our goodbyes, and then you… well we uuh,” Ed stammers with reddening cheeks. He looks away out of embarrassment, it’s unsettling. 

“What happened,” Oswald asks anxiously.

“You kissed me,” Ed admits, peering back at him sheepishly.

His jaw slackens. “That really happened?” All this time he’d thought it was something he’d thought up in one of his daydreams. He’d only just told Ed how he felt and he’s already ruined everything. “Oh my God, I am so sorry. Please don’t think too badly of me. I-I can’t make these feelings go away, but I’m okay with us just being friends. I won’t do it again, I promise-”

“I’m not mad, Oswald.”

“You’re not?”

“No. It was kind of sudden, but it’s not...angering.”

There’s a wild mix of emotions rushing through him now. He’s relieved that he hasn’t destroyed the best friendship he’s ever had and also anxious at the thought of Ed accepting his feelings. He says he isn’t mad, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it either. He tries to stifle any hopes that Ed might see him the same way, but he can’t help himself.

“Do you think maybe…,” he starts, but Ed holds up his hand.

“Now isn’t the best time for us to talk about this,” he says. “...But we will, I promise,” he adds when he sees the crestfallen look on Oswald’s face. “There are other things we need to discuss first.”

“What else is there to talk about? Did you get in contact with Butch yet?”

“Not yet, but I’m working on it. Right now, there’s something more important I need to tell you.”

Oswald sighs. “Okay, what is it?” 

“When I got out of Arkham, I paid a visit to your mother’s grave. I met someone there.”

Someone else was visiting her? He wasn’t aware of anyone she might have been friends with. “Who?”

“Wait here.” Ed stands from his seat and walks over to the door. He sticks his head out, inviting an unseen guest into the room. The man that walks in is someone he’s never seen before, staring at him wide eyed.

“Hello Oswald,” he swallows. “My name is Elijah Van Dahl. Have you ever heard of me?”

Oswald shakes his head. A wash of sadness passes over the man’s face, but his lips pull up into a watery smile.

“Coming here, I wasn’t sure that you would be the person I thought you were,“ he says.“...But now that you’re here in front of me, the truth is plain to see.”

“I don’t understand. Who are you?”

He takes a few, tentative steps forward.

“Oswald...I’m your father.”

He freezes in his seat. Of all the things he might have expected to happen today, this was not one of them. He hadn’t thought of the idea of having  father in years. It was a question he’d brought up to his mother when he was young, something he’d long grown out of.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” he hears Ed say, followed by the clicking of the door closing.

He takes his time to really look at the man standing before him. Somewhere in his mind, he’d thought his father would have been a hardened criminal like himself. How else could he have grown into such violent thoughts, given the sanctity of his mother...But the man is nothing of the sort. This man is meek, and well off by the look of his clothing, nothing too far out of the ordinary.

“My father...” He releases a dry laugh. “How…?”

The man takes his seat across from him.

“Gertrud came to work as a cook for my parents. She was so young and beautiful, so full of life. I was young then too, a boy really. Just a foolish, romantic boy. The more we saw of each other, the more we fell in love.”

His eyes glaze over with fondness as his mind travels back all those years ago. It’s a strange sight to see. Oswald, of course, had always seen his mother in the light she deserved. He wasn’t used to seeing others do the same.

“When my parents found out, they forbade us from being together,” he explains. “I was the heir to a great fortune, they said, and she was just a cook. I threatened to run away with her, turn my back on my family name and my inheritance. It was the first and only time I ever stood up to them. A spoiled child making idle threats, they must've known my words were just that.” His eyes drift to Oswald. “The next day, Gertrud was gone. My parents told me only that they had come to an arrangement. She would be taken care of, and I must never make an attempt to find her...And to my shame, I didn't. I let them separate us.”

There’s a low anger simmering in his chest, but finds he doesn’t have the heart to chastise this man. Despite his gut instinct to lash out and defend his mother’s honor, he can see the regret clearly painted on his face. There’s no use in scolding someone that was already ashamed of their crime.

“When I saw the ‘beloved mother’ in the engraving, I figured she must have moved on, but now I see that was not the case. I had no idea about you, she never told me she was pregnant. If only I had known…”

“She told me that my father had died when I was still a baby.”

“Yes, your friend informed me of that,” he says with a sad smile. “Easier than the truth, I suppose, that your father was a coward who wouldn't stand up to his parents. She must've figured that the two of you would be better off making your own way, which in fact, was probably the truth.” He looks over Oswald again. Instead of despair and repulsion at his failure of a son, there is only warmth emanating from his gaze. “Look at you, a strong young man. She did a good job, didn't she?”

Tears prick the corners of his eyes. All these years have passed, no one daring to see him as anything other than a pale, sniveling bastard...But his father, a man so much more distinguished than anyone he’s ever met, looks at him with admiration. It’s something he hasn’t felt since his mother left. It feels good.

“She tried.”

 

 

 

Standing just outside the doors of the visitor’s center, Ed has time to really think over what’s happened the last few days.

Following his initial meeting with Elijah Van Dahl, Ed had been brought back to an illustrious mansion, sprawling with antiques rivaling the grandest of museums in Gotham. The man was a millionaire, his fortune passed down through a line of established tailors. Despite his wealth, he never partook in the usual activities of Gotham’s aristocracy. He hadn’t even heard of Oswald, so cut off from the rest of the world he was.

When Ed had told him of Oswald’s whereabouts, he didn’t recoil at the idea of his son having a criminal background. Instead, the news that he was locked away is what brought him grief, blaming himself for the circumstances that brought him there.

He thanks whatever force drove him to visit the cemetery that day. Now that Elijah was with them, they had access to money. Money meant resources and influence. Once Oswald was released, he’d have more than enough funding to redeem his position with the mob. It was the greatest stroke of luck he could have ever imagined.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you back so soon.”

Ed looks up to find Strange walking towards him. He’s a free man now, he shouldn't feel likes he's in trouble when he meets his ever judgemental gaze.  


“There were important matters that required me to return.”

“Yes, that man you were with. I overheard him saying he was visiting his  _ son _ . Such wonderful news, I do hope to see Mr. Cobblepot’s demeanor improves with this new connection.” Strange raises a brow. “What else have you been up to, if I may ask?”

“Well, I’ve managed to find a place to stay, and I’m looking for work. Nothing notable.”

“Is there anything else, you’d like to tell me?” Strange takes another step, bringing him uncomfortably close to Ed’s presence. “I received a call from Detective Gordon asking me about your release. I believe I gave you strict advisement on making your transition into society as seamless as possible.”

“...And I’ve done just that. I informed Detective Gordon that I would be making weekly visits, to explain why  _ you _ hadn’t contacted the police about setting up probation.” Ed gives him a pointed look. “I’m sure those terms are more than satisfactory.”

“Perhaps,” Strange says, narrowing his eyes. “However, I must ask that you try to refrain in making visits so constantly in the future. If I find Mr. Cobblepot failing to improve as a result of these visits, I will have no other choice than to restrict his access.”

Ed responds with a tight smile. “I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you for understanding,” Strange says before he continues his walk down the hall. ”...And if you wouldn’t mind, visiting hours will be over soon.”

“I’ll pass along the message,” he mutters. He walks back to the room and quietly opens the door.

Ed wasn’t sure what would come out of this meeting between father and son. They hadn’t discussed his feelings towards his father’s absence before, but knowing Oswald, there was bound to be some anger lingering there. What he wouldn’t have expected was for him to be so accepting, not so soon after being introduced to one another.

...But that’s exactly what he’s greeted to when he walks into the room. They’re hugging, Oswald is gripping onto him with all his strength, light tears running down his cheeks. He stands still as Elijah runs his hand over his back soothingly. It’s an intimacy he himself has only seen once from Oswald. His chest tightens at the sight.

“My poor boy. You've been all alone in the world,” Elijah murmurs, pulling away from the hug.

“Yes, I have,” Oswald mumbles.

“No longer,” Elijah assures him. “You have a home, and a father, and a family.”

“A family?”

“Yes, a big, happy family, and they’re going to be so excited to see you.”

Under the layer of tears, Oswald’s face brightens at the prospect of having a family waiting for him outside of Arkham. Ed suddenly finds himself feeling entirely out of place, witnessing this exchange.

He clears his throat. “I’m sorry, they’ve just told me visiting hours are ending soon.”

Elijah and Oswald both turn to him with disappointment.

“I suppose we must leave, but it won’t be for long,” Elijah says, giving Oswald one last pat on the shoulder. “We’ll be back.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Oswald says. He gives Elijah one last squeeze as the guard walks up and pulls him away. A quick glance and a small smile is all Ed’s gets as a goodbye before the guard escorts him from the room.

 

**.**

**.**

 

The drive back to the estate is much more upbeat than the drive over. Every fear that Elijah had about meeting his son is replaced with excitement.

“Thank you for this Edward. I can’t tell you how much this visit has meant for me.”

“Not a problem. If you’d like, I can arrange for a paternity test to make sure he’s yours.”

“Oh I don’t need any test,” he scoffs. “Oswald is my son, I can feel it.”

Ed himself isn’t admirable over the man’s willingness to accept something so unsure, but he’s thankful for it nonetheless.

Elijah sighs. “My poor boy, locked away in an institution. I wish I had someway to help him.”

“If Professor Strange is as determined to fix him as he was with me, he could be out within a few weeks. Although, I’m not sure how much there is for him to fix.”

Elijah looks at him quizzically. “What do you mean by that?”

“Oswald was sent to Arkham for murdering Theo Galavan, but he didn’t commit the crime,” Ed explains. “He was responsible for the kidnapping, but he had help. There was a detective working on Galavan’s case that wanted him dead, he’s the one that did the killing.”

Elijah falls back into his seat with shock. “You’re certain of that?”

Ed nods. “Once it was done, Oswald confessed to cover for him.”

“You’re saying he’s been charged on a false accusation?”

_ False _ probably wasn’t the right word. Even if he hadn’t killed Galavan, he had certainly intended to. “More or less.”

Elijah shakes his head, eyes wide with dismay. “How can they do this to an innocent man?”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d call him innocent-”

“This cannot stand,” he huffs. “If my son didn’t kill that man, there’s no reason for him to be locked away. It’s injustice.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

Elijah is quiet for a few moments, his mind distant with plans. He turns back to Ed. “You said you saw this detective do the killing, yes?”

_ No, I never said that _ , is what Ed’s first response is, but it’s not what he answers with.

“Yes.”

“If you would be willing to give your testimony before a court, I could make a case against the GCPD for false imprisonment.”

Ed grimaces. “I don’t know if my word would be enough given that Oswald confessed to the crime.”

“A confession made by a man not at his best mental state,” Elijah insists. “He was ruthlessly manipulated by this detective you speak of. I won’t rest until he receives the proper punishment for what he’s done to my son.”

Ed is quiet. Oswald might have told him of Jim’s role in Galavan’s death, but the words of a convicted murderer in a madhouse held little weight. A witness testimony from him would never stand in court either. He couldn’t have been a witness to the crime when he was locked up in Arkham.

Elijah must sense his hesitance, because he adds to his plea with an offer. “I’ll provide you with a room and an allowance while we go over the evidence. You’ll be compensated for your time.”

That is something Ed can work with. Without having to worry over his money or living situation, he’ll have plenty of time working with Butch. There’s no way he would have any real use for this case…But Elijah didn’t need to know that. Despite the fact that there was little Ed could really do to help the case, a lawsuit would still give them what they needed to see Oswald free.

Jim had been under suspicion at the time Oswald confessed. Even if his name had been cleared, there had to have been evidence building against him. The lawsuit would bring new investigations and the evidence would be reexamined, possibly enough to lead to a criminal investigation. Once the trial started, Ed would quietly step away from his testimony and let the court make their decision. Even if Jim somehow evaded the law once again, the time needed for each side to build their case would still give him plenty of time to think of a plan for breaking Oswald out.

Win or lose, the offer is too good to resist.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

Elijah releases a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“You won’t have to do much, I’ll take care of everything,” Elijah says. “I’ll call up my lawyer tonight and let him know we’ll be meeting with him. For tonight, we’ll treat ourselves to a nice family meal. Grace and the children are supposed to be coming back from their trip today, I can’t wait to tell them the good news.”

 

 

 

When they arrive back at the mansion, they find there’s another car parked in the driveway. The floor of the foyer is covered with stacks of luggage when they walk through the front door.

“There you are Elijah, where have you been all day?” A woman dressed as though she attends galas everyday of her life walks in from the living room, followed by a young man and woman. The trio still when they catch sight of Ed. “Who’s this?”

“Grace, this is Edward Nygma. Edward allow me to introduce you to my wife Grace and her children, Sasha and Charles.”

“Charmed,” she says, giving him a quick glance before turning back to her husband. “Elijah dearest, what’s going on, you never have guests over.”

“There’s so much that’s happened while you were away, so many wonderful and terrible things. I have a son, Grace, my own flesh and blood.”

“A son…You’re sure?”

“Yes, he’s Gertrud’s son. You remember how I told you of her.”

“Oh, right,” Grace mutters under her breath. “The scullery maid.”

“Unfortunately, Oswald has been locked away in Arkham Asylum.”

“Arkham...,” the boy, Charles, remarks. “Isn’t that where they send the more…unstable criminals.”

“Oswald has been sentenced on a false charge, but do not fret, we have a witness to the crime,” he says, gesturing to Ed. “Mr. Nygma is going to help us see Oswald to his deserved freedom.”

“...And what about you,” the girl, Sasha, asks. ”Were you in Arkham as well?”

Ed swallows. “Yes.” His answer causes each of them to go rigid with fear.

“On what charge,” Grace asks.

“The charge doesn’t matter,” Elijah answers for him. “Mr. Nygma has served his sentence and left the institution with a clean bill of mental health. In exchange for his help, I’ve offered to have him live here with us until he has the means to live on his own again.”

Grace chuckles, dry and joyless. “Darling, that’s a little excessive, don’t you think?”

“Excessive? I’d say it’s the least we can do considering how much he’s doing for us.”

Grace clears her throat. “Elijah, I just don’t feel comfortable having a felon in our home. What if we were raped and murdered in our beds?”

“Raped  _ and _ murdered,” Sasha chimes in.

“I’m right here,” Ed grumbles, but the others pay him no mind.

“Nonsense,” Elijah scoffs. “Mr. Nygma is no less sane than any of you. In fact, I bet he would score higher in sanity than the rest of us, given how much work he’s gone through to rectify his mistakes.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ed smiles.

Grace huffs. “It still isn’t right to have some unemployed, homeless man sitting around our house.”

“If you would prefer, I can also help out with chores around the house in addition to working on the case,” Ed suggests. “I can cook, too.”

“See Grace,” Elijah smiles. “...he’s already offering his help.”

“Help is something one should seek out for themselves,” Grace remarks. “...not wait for it to find them.”

“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” Elijah scolds. “Enough with these excuses. Mr. Nygma will be staying here while we work out the details for our case, and that’s that.”

It looks as though she wishes to protest further, but she concedes with a sigh.

“Alright,” she replies with a pained smile. “If you insist.”

She returns back to the living room, a quick glare passing over her face as she walks past Ed. Only when he’s certain everyone’s gaze has shifted away does he return in kind.

 

 

 

That night, Ed makes good on his offer and cooks the family dinner, of which Elijah is more than complimentary of. Grace and her brood are hesitant of the meal, but eventually come around with no complaints. When dinner is over and the family retires for the night, Grace pulls her children to one of the offices to discuss their options.

“We need to think of something fast. If Elijah goes through with this lawsuit, it could be the end of this life we’ve made for ourselves.”

Charles scoffs. “What’s the worry? This ‘Oswald’ sounds like nothing more than a criminal lunatic.”

“Don’t be daft, Charles, you’ve seen how sentimental Elijah is. The fact that Oswald is his son alone is more than enough to give him a claim in our fortune.”

“I thought you said he’d be dead within the year,” Sasha says. “Maybe he won’t be around long enough to go through with the case.”

“It doesn’t matter if the case happens, or if it’s even successful. Lawsuits means lawyers, and if Elijah’s meeting with his lawyers, there’s no telling what else might come up.”

“You think he’s going to change his will?”

Grace nods sullenly. “Yes, and when he dies, Cobblepot will get what's rightfully ours.” She shakes her head bitterly. “That old man was a shriveled up wreck when I met him. I made him feel young again, I brought him back to life.”

“What do we do?”

“Elijah is too trusting, but I think we can get him on our side if we convince him he’s not as innocent as he seems,” Grace says, voice pensive. “You two need to find out everything you can about ‘Oswald Cobblepot’. Once we’ve discovered the extent of his crimes, we’ll show Elijah that man his son really is. Surely he’ll see reason then.”

“What about the other guy,” Charles asks.

“He shouldn’t be a too much of a problem for us...But getting rid of him does remove some of Oswald’s influence on Elijah. See what you can find on him, too.”

Once the trio sorts out their plan, they each see themselves to their rooms, not bothering to check for any avid listeners that might be hiding in the shadows.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry I took so long to get this chapter out. I’ve been sort of obsessed with my other Nygmobblepot fic [Flashbulb](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14246496/chapters/32853417) (Which if haven’t checked out already, I highly suggest you do. I’m really happy with how it’s turned out.) Between that and schoolwork, I just haven’t had the time.
> 
> Now that I’ve gotten it out of my system and school’s done for the semester, I’ll be back to updating this fic regularly again. 
> 
> Thanks for waiting~


	14. -

 

 

Oswald does not know what it is Strange has done to his regimen that is supposedly helping him, but he wholeheartedly rejects that bullshit notion.

He doesn’t deny that something’s changed, there’s an obvious difference in his memories from what he once endured. The first thing that’s noticeable is that he actually remembers the things he sees. Before, he would awaken some time after his session filled with dread for some unknown fear. The visions he sees are much clearer now, and somehow far more frightening.

There’s nothing grotesque in the images, no blood or death. All he sees an endless void of faces, nothing so gruesome, and yet it leaves him with paralyzing terror. They’re all faces he recognizes, ghosts of the people he’s betrayed. Many of the faces belong to people he doesn’t care for, people like Fish Mooney, her dead eye watching him with an icy fury. Then there’s the people he’s more fond of like Ed or his father, watching him with disappointment.

The vision progresses the same way each time. He tries to turn away from the gazes, both resentful and disapproving. Were he a stronger version of himself, he would have stood his ground against any fool that dared look down on him, but not now. Instead, he hides from them, but no matter where he turns, the heat of their gazes hits him hard. Even when he pulls his eyes shut, he sees their grimaces peering at him through the dark.

It isn’t long before they begin to disappear, something that should be a relief, but it isn’t. He tries reaching out for them, silently begging them to stay, to not leave him alone to rot away. Even the sight of watching a man like Maroni disappearing into the inky mass leaves him with dread.

Regardless of his pleas, they all leave him. All except for one. He never sees her face, but he can hear her voice shouting hateful words at him.

 _Bastard_ ! _Murderer_ ! _Pathetic_ ! _Waste_ ! _Unlovable_!

He doesn’t possess the strength to tell her off. Unlike before, there’s no anger or will to fight, just a deep, empty sadness. Somehow, it’s a much worse feeling to have.

His session has been over for nearly an hour and the vision has long passed, but he’s yet to come down from the shock. They’ve sat him down in a rather uncomfortable chair, but he relaxes into it nonetheless, his body sore after tugging against his restraints. His limbs tremble, though he isn’t cold. It’s as if his nerves are beginning to shut down on him, disconnecting from his control one by one.

“How are you feeling today,” Strange asks from his seat across from him.

“I’m tired,” he replies, numbly. He’s not sure how much sleep he’s gotten over the last week, but he knows it can’t have been much.

“Are you still hearing the voices?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a regular side effect of your medication, there’s no need to be alarmed.”

He knows this already. He’s been told as much every time it’s brought up. It does nothing to make them go away and allow him his rest.

“I’ll prescribe a sedative for the guards to administer to you. That should help you get to sleep.” Strange writes it down on a sheet of paper that he sets to the side. “Can you describe what it is you hear?”

“It’s my mother...I think.”

“You think?”

“I’m not sure if it’s her, I can’t recognize her voice,” he admits. “She used to talk to me all the time. Then we had a fight, and then she was gone...But I’m sure it has to be her.”

“Your mother _is_ gone. She died several months ago.”

“She isn’t just dead, it’s more than that. Whenever I try to think about her, I can’t recall what she looks like or how she sounds. It’s like she erased herself from my life, like she’s punishing me.”

Strange hums. “What is it punishment for?” When Oswald doesn’t answer him Strange tries again. “When she speaks to you, what is it you hear?”

“She tells me that I’m alone, that I’m unlovable.”

“...And why do you think she say these things to you?”

“She’s angry at me, because I lied to her. The night she died, I told her that everything was going to be okay, but it wasn’t.” His head drifts down to stare at the ground, to ashamed at himself to look another man in the eye. “She never hurt anyone once in her life, but I did. She paid the price for my mistakes, like she always did.”

“No amount of regret can bring her back now.”

“I know, and I can accept that,” he says, and he does mean it. “...But I’ve lost so much, and I worry that it will happen again.”

“It sounds like you should worry, from what you’ve told me. If you continue on this path you’ve led, I fear that you may indeed lose those dearest to you. Mr. Nygma, your father…”

“I don’t want that,” he says, shaking his head desperately.

“Of course you don’t, and neither do I. I have the utmost faith in your ability to come back from this path of destruction and pain. I believe that we are leading you now to the path of discovering your true self. The man I know you want to be.”

Yes. Yes he’d like that very much.

“What do I do?” It’s barely a whisper.

“You already know what you must do,” Strange explains. “Mistakes are made so that so that we can learn from them. Follow the path you chose not to travel, all those months ago.”

They’re interrupted by a soft knocking on the door. Oswald has a few moments to think over Strange’s words as he opens it, speaking briefly to the orderly waiting outside.

“We’ll end our session early today,” Strange says, returning to his seat. He motions for Oswald to stand, but doesn’t allow him to leave just yet. “Remember this, Mr. Cobblepot, there are no lost causes. In fact, you’re second chance may happen sooner than you think. You have a visitor waiting for you right now.”

Oswald stiffens. “I do?”

Strange nods. “The guards will escort you to the visitors center. Do keep our conversation in mind.“

Oswald does as he’s told. His fear and trembling limbs are replaced with cool determination. As he heads down the halls, he keeps his head high, knowing full well what he must do next.

 

**.**

**.**

 

Finding the mansion was never an issue. Ed had memorized the address Oswald had given him ten times over, he’d even found an architecture sketch of the interior with a little digging at the library. He knew the location, the layout, it would only take a brief tour for him to know of every nook and cranny that might be hiding from him.

Getting himself _into_ the mansion, on the other hand, was a bit trickier. Sneaking into the place wouldn’t be an option. The iron clad windows would be too difficult to break open and there were guards at every visible entry point. Though he was loathe to admit it, the security was beyond his talents.

The best plan was to get in the old fashioned way: getting invited inside.

He’s come up with a steady routine for himself over the last week. He’d spend the majority of his day sitting a short ways away from the mansion, telling the Van Dahl’s that he was out trying to find a new job. Elijah took the news with joy, glad to see a man such as himself reintegrating into society. Grace, on the other hand, took it with suspicion. It’s annoying, but at the same time, she’s also absolutely correct in feeling as such. She doesn’t make too much of a fuss over it, so he’ll leave it for now.

From his spot across the street, he’d watch the people coming and going from the place until he familiarized himself with their schedules. Gilzean himself rarely left, but those who did were high ranking enough to have some sway with him.

At night, he’d take himself out to different bars, eavesdropping over the conversations of the various unsavory characters he finds there. One of the better perks of working at the GCPD was that he now knew a great number of locations with adequate sources for criminal activity. Sure enough, it’s only a matter of days before he finds a few crowds working for Gilzean.

He admits that he hasn’t mastered the art of making acquaintances. It will take him time before they trust him enough to get him involved. Once they do, he’ll work his way through the groups until he and Gilzean are face to face. Then, when he’s proven his usefulness, he’ll find a way to work with him directly, and there is where he’ll strike. It may take months, but he’s determined to make it work.

However, it seems absolutely none of that would be required.

As it turns out, a weird guy repeatedly staking out the major hangout of Gotham’s current reigning mob boss is more than enough to catch the guards attention. It’s a cloudy morning, like many before. He’s sitting in a small brush across the street with some binoculars and a sandwich when he hears a twig snapping behind him. He barely manages to turn around when he finds himself being handled by a rough pair of hands and a piece of cloth gagging his mouth.

The men drag him into the estate as inconspicuously as possible, threatening him whenever he tries to explain himself. They weave through the halls until he finds himself in a large living room. Gilzean is standing there having a heated conversation with another man. The guards make no indication of their arrival, waiting quietly until their conversation is over.

“Mr. Gilzean we’ve already placed bonds at the antiques shop. It would be more secure if we kept these bonds at the lab so that they aren’t holed together at one place.”

There’s a loud sigh. Lying atop one of the room’s couches is a leather clad woman sharpening a small knife and looking bored out of her mind. Ed had heard mention of Tabitha Galavan residing in the mansion, this must be her. Oswald had said she cared little for politics, only caring about finding the next thing for her to stick a knife into. It’s little surprise she would be uninterested in the conversation.

Gilzean also proves to have little interest on what the other man has to say, although he seems to be more irritated by it.

“How many times I gotta say it? Do _not_ stash those bonds at the lab. I wouldn’t trust that white coat with doing my own dishes, let alone holding onto debts.”

“Mr. Gilzean, I must insist-”

“Listen, do whatever you need with the cash from the bank, I don’t care. Those need to go somewhere safe. If we handed them over to Doc-Talks-A-Lot, they’d be stolen in minutes. The bonds go to the shop. End of discussion, now go do it.”

The man looks like he wants to protest again, but a hard stare from Gilzean seals his mouth shut. The frazzled accountant walks out of the room, muttering something about numbers. Ed had done a fair amount of research on each of the workers residing in the mansion. If he remembered correctly, which he did of course, he had a mild case of obsessive compulsive disorder. The inequity between stashes was probably driving him crazy.

“If you’re so sure the doctor guy is a rat, just get rid of him,” Tabitha says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I can’t, not yet. The lab is the only stash house we’ve got that offers fake drug test results. We get a lot of money from that joint.” He runs a finger lightly over the exposed skin of her shoulder. “Don’t worry baby, as soon as I can get a new spot, I’m dumping his ass.”

“Or maybe you could just hand him over to me,” Tabitha smiles and Butch laughs.

Ed resists the urge to roll his eyes when Gilzean leans in for a kiss. The guard, also uncomfortable, clears his throat. Gilzean looks over to them with mild interest, like it’s the first time he’s noticed them standing there.

“Who’s this,” he asks, pointing to Ed.

“This guy’s been coming around and staking out the house for a few days now. We thought this might be deserving of your attention.”

Gilzean shrugs. “So what’s the deal? You a cop?”

“No sir, far from it,” Ed says, shaking his head. “I know it may seem a bit strange that I was watching your house. It’s just that I’ve been dying to meet with you.”

“If you’re not a cop, what do you want?”

“I’d like a job. Please.”

Gilzean laughs. “A job, that’s it? Go get yourself a paper, there’s plenty of jobs out there.”

“I don’t want some regular day job. I used to think you would never live up to the legacy Fish Mooney promised us, but now I see that I was wrong. You’ve only taken over for a few months now, and you’ve done so much already. I’d give anything to work under the distinguished Gilzean name.”

Gilzean snorts at the flattery, but it isn’t a ‘no’.

“Why should I hire you? What’ve you got to offer me?”

“Whatever you want, sir. I have basic education, I’m good with numbers-”

“Yeah, but can you fight?”

Ed’s mouth tightens. He doubts Gilzean would consider what he does to be fighting, though he would disagree.

“I can be very persuasive,” he replies with a smirk.

Gilzean narrows his eyes. “That’s what I thought you’d say. I know your type. A little weasel that thinks pretending to be something he’s not will make it real. Fakers never make it in this business, you know why that is?”

Ed stays silent, trying his best not to glare.

“It’s because the truth is always more dangerous than the lie. You can cause all the chaos you want, but the doesn’t mean you’ll make it to the top. If you don’t have the strength behind you to back yourself, people will find out, and then you’ll never-”

“Mr. Gilzean,” comes an indignant huff from behind them.

Gilzean grits his teeth as he turns around to his assistant.

“What?!”

“Sir, I’m telling you that the best course of action would be taking the bonds to the lab.”

“Are you kidding me? I just told you we were done with this.”

The man sighs. “Please, just let me explain to you…”

The man keeps talking, but it’s obvious Gilzean isn’t listening to a word of it. His face is blank aside from a slight twitching in his lip. After a moment of consideration, he holds his hand up, silencing his assistant, before he turns back to Ed.

“What’s your name, guy?”

“Edward,” he says. He cringes internally at his knee-jerk answer. What kind of idiot uses their own name? He needs to come with something fast, and he’s less than pleased on what his brain decides for him. “Edward Nashton, sir.”

“Alright Mr. Nashton. You want a job from me?”

Ed nods. “Yes sir, very much.”

“I think I may have an opening.” He holds up a finger. “Wait here for a minute, yeah?”

He walks over to to his assistant, guiding him over to the back office and slamming the door shut behind them. There’s a muffled yelp, followed by a gunshot and a short flash behind the frosted glass of the door. A moment later, Gilzean returns, small specs of blood on his cheek.

“It seems I’m in need of a new assistant. That sound good to you?”

Ed nods slowly, forcing a smile of gratitude. As the guard starts leading him away, Gilzean stops them.

“We’re not done yet. I just gotta give you a quick interview first.” He stares Ed down, keeping his voice low. ”Tell me, if I were to have some bonds that I wanted to keep safe, where should I put them?”

Ed swallows. “Bonds should always go somewhere to trust to keep them safe. Like that antique shop you like so much,” he suggests as cooly as he can. “...And any leftover money can be stashed at the lab.”

Gilzean raises his arms up. “Yes! Finally, someone that actually pays attention.”

He gives Ed a rough smack on his back, which he supposes was meant as a friendly gesture because the guards have let him go now.

Gilzean send his guards over to collect the body from the office, not bothering to show Ed the way out as he walks over to the couch to sit by his lover.

“Come in tomorrow morning and I’ll show you where the stashes are,” he says, wiping stray blood from his pistol. “...And don’t be late or I’ll send you out with predecessor over there.”

“Yep, understood, thank you for this opportunity,” is all Ed can manage before turning around dashing out of the mansion.

 

**.**

**.**

 

By the time he was back at the Van Dahl estate, the anxiety had washed from his system and was replaced by delight. He’s only been out for about a week and he’s already found his way into Gilzean’s inner circle.

That elation is broken when he walks through the foyer to find Grace in the living room.

“Ah, you’re back,” she says with her usual snideness. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He sees Elijah sitting on the couch, everyone else crowded around him.

“What’s going on,” Ed asks.

“Yes, I was wondering just the same,” Elijah says. “You said the children had something to show me?”

“They do. Brace yourself, dear. I'm afraid we have some bad news.”

“Oh, dear.”

Ed looks over the trio wearily, then takes a seat on the couch next to Elijah.

“Charles was at the public library today-”

“Research for the novel I'm writing,” Charles explains. “I was reading some old newspapers, and I made an alarming discovery.”

He pulls out a paper, one with a picture Ed recognizes from several months ago.

_Oh crud._

“My dear, Oswald is not innocent young man you think he is,” Grace says as Elijah takes the newspaper from Charles. “If we didn't lead such sheltered lives here, we would know what the whole world knows.”

Elijah’s eyebrows knit together as he reads over the article. “The Penguin?”

“Yes, I’m afraid Oswald is in fact a notorious criminal.”

“Oh my…” He scans over the page and then...smiles? “He never told me how famous he was, such a modest young man.”

Grace looks like she’s about to explode. “What?!”

Elijah sighs, folding the paper away. “Grace there is no need to worry. He’s not this man anymore, he’s changed.”

“...And what makes you so sure of that?”

“I visited him just earlier today.”

“You did?”

Ed and Grace turn towards each other, having both said the same thing. They narrow their eyes at one another.

“I did,” Elijah continues, happily oblivious to the tension taking place in front of him. “He told me all about his past, and told me how much he regretted it. He said he wants nothing more than to learn how to be a better person, and Professor Strange tells me he’s made so much progress.”

Ed furrows his brows, confused. Oswald loved running Gotham’s crime world, the last thing he wanted was to give it up...But then why would he say those things? Was he lying? Maybe he’d misjudged Oswald’s feelings for his father. Then again, he’d done as much with his mother, so he shouldn’t be so surprised.

Grace sniffs, straightening herself out. “Well, that isn’t the only thing we’ve discovered, is it children?”

“No,” Sasha says. She pulls out a page of newsprint of her own. It’s just an article clipping, nothing worthy of front page news. “I also came across information on the man sitting next to you right now.”

She hands the slip over to Elijah. It’s an short article written about Dougherty’s murder, nothing fancy, just bare-bone facts. Ed pales as he watches Elijah read it over with concern.

“You see? He’s a stalker _and_ a murderer,” Grace snaps. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d followed you to your dear Gertrud’s grave just so he could use us for his own means.”

Elijah looks to him for explanation. “Edward?”

He knew this day was coming, it was only a matter of time before one of them dug up his past. Though he’d hoped it wouldn’t be now, when he’s just barely started to know the Van Dahl’s. It doesn't matter, he knows what to do. If there's one thing he knows about Elijah, it's that he sees the good in people, even when it isn’t there.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, heat rising to his face.

“Yes, it’s true,” he says, staring Elijah dead in the eyes. “I…I did kill another man, but I did it to protect the woman I loved.”

Grace starts to make a sound of protest, but Elijah shushes her, much to her dismay. Ed holds back a smirk and continues.

“She was someone I knew from work. I don’t think I’d say I was stalking her, unless you consider having a crush to be stalking. Writers do love to do that don’t they? It makes their work all the more enticing I suppose.”

Elijah nods in understanding, Grace rolls her eyes.

“When we started dating, she told me about her ex-boyfriend and how he abused her. She said that she was scared that he would find out about us and do something bad...And she was right. One night, when I was leaving her house, he was standing outside waiting for me. He started to beat me up, and then I…” He hitches his breath, squeezing his eyes tightly so that a pair of tears fall down his cheeks. “...and then he was dead.”

When he looks up, he sees Elijah’s face filled with compassion. Grace and Sasha are glaring at him, while Charles looks confused.

“I didn’t want to do it, I just-” He cuts himself with a choked sob.

“It’s alright,” Elijah coos. He pulls out a handkerchief and hands it over to Ed, who blows into it. He turns back to Grace with a disappointed frown. “Are you satisfied now?”

Grace purses her lip together in contemplation before she stomps out of the room, Sasha and Charles following not far behind. As Ed watches them go, he decides he’ll need to do something about them a little sooner than anticipated.

“I apologize for her,” Elijah sighs. “She can be rather defensive. Sasha and Charles father was abusive to his family. Such topics are a bit sensitive.”

“I understand, I can’t blame her for being so distrustful of someone like myself.”

“Nonsense,” Elijah tuts. “You’re fine, sensible man, Edward. Everyone has their demons, but not everyone is so brave as to face them.”

“Thank you,” Ed says. Elijah may not know just how true his words are, but it feels just as good to hear him say it.

“...And how are you today? I believe you said you were heading to an interview this morning.”

“You’re correct, and I was successful.”

“Such great news,” Elijah beams. “What’s the position?”

“Y’know, it’s a little difficult to explain,” Ed chuckles, an answer that seems to be good enough for Elijah.

“Well regardless, you are more than welcome to continue your stay here. I’ve quite enjoyed having you around...And your cooking is phenomenal.”

Ed silently thanks him for the compliment, but his eyes turn downcast. “I wish you’d told me you were going to Arkham, I would have liked to have gone with you.”

“I apologize, it was a spur of the moment decision, and I knew you had your appointment. If I had asked you to come along, you may have missed out on this job.“

“That’s true,” he admits. “Still, I want to be there for Oswald and help him make it through this in any way I can.”

Elijah smiles “He’s lucky to have a friend like you. You need not worry, I’ve spoken to my lawyer and he said our case is as strong as iron. This ‘Detective Gordon’ already had a lot of evidence stacked against him. Tomorrow, I’ll be filing a lawsuit against the GCPD, and we’ll have Oswald out in no time.”

As they spend the night discussing the details of the case, Ed decides winging it was the best decision he could have made. With all the players set, the game begins, and everything was going swimmingly for him.

It was perfect, nothing could stop him now.

 

**.**

**.**

 

_...In other news, an old case has been reopened in the form of a civil suit. Elijah Van Dahl, owner of Van Dahl’s Clothier, is suing the Gotham City Police Department for falsely imprisoning his son. His son has been revealed as notorious gang boss Oswald Cobblepot, better known by his alias ‘the Penguin’._

_Cobblepot and_ **_Detective James Gordon_ ** _, esteemed member of Gotham’s police force and head of the Policemen’s Union, were both suspected for the murder of controversial Mayor Theo Galavan following his release from prison. Captain Nathaniel Barnes claimed that_ **_Gordon_ ** _and Cobblepot were the last two men he saw with Mayor Galavan before his disappearance and subsequent death. A public hearing conducted by district attorney Dent determined_ **_Detective Gordon_ ** _to be innocent of the crime, while Cobblepot was found guilty and sentenced to Arkham Asylum for behavioral therapy._

 _Despite Cobblepot’s confession and past with the mob, Van Dahl claims that his son is innocent of the crime and that it was in fact_ **_Gordon_ ** _that shot and killed Mayor Galavan. He believes that his son, who has been since diagnosed with a series of mental health issues by Arkham’s psychologists, presented a false confession which the police force allowed to protect their own employee. Van Dahl also says that he has been contacted by an eyewitness to the crime that will shed light on the situation._

 _While this case falls under a civil lawsuit, new information regarding Mayor Galavan’s death may be enough to reopen the investigation against_ **_Gordon_ ** _._

 _If he is found guilty,_ **_Detective Gordon_ ** _will likely face a minimum of twenty years at Blackgate Penitentiary..._

Jim Gordon imprisoned for murder.

It’s a string of words that should never be uttered. Jim was a man of the law, one of the few honest men left in this God forsaken town. The thought of a man like him, one with such a good heart, being stuffed away into a dirty cell with the rest of the world’s filth. It was vile and unjust.

...And so utterly tantalizing

For what feels like the first time in months, Barbara’s eyes blink open. The room around her fades into the light and there’s a beeping from a monitor nearby.

There’s footsteps, and then a woman shoves her wrinkled face into Barbara’s line of vision. “Well hello, dear.”

She quickly examines Barbara, who can only stare back at her in confusion.

“Someone call Professor Strange.”

The woman walks out of the room, looking for assistance. As she goes, Barbara can see she’s wearing a nurse’s uniform. The last thing she remembers is falling, Jim watching her descent with fear and regret in his eyes. She must have been hospitalized, but this isn’t Gotham General.

_Where the hell am I?_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY! Part 2 exposition done! OTZ We’ve got some plot (and some actual Nygmobblepot) coming up, so stay tuned.


	15. -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warning: we’re back in business.

 

 

As it turns out, working as the lead assistant to a crime boss is a much easier job than Ed would have thought. Over the last week, he’s rearranged the holdings in each stash house to fit Gilzean’s demands, a task that he finds so simple it makes his imaginings of his predecessor all the more degraded.

It’s an odd thing to think that all he needed to rise up was to fall as far down as he could. He feels bolder than before, casually walking the streets in broad daylight. He remembers Jim’s warning on being cautious of any cops that might find him, but what could they do to him now? Let them see how far he’d risen, despite the ill-wishes they’d certainly had for him. He’d give anything to run into Jim again, see him now that the world is at his back waiting for him to crumble under the pressure. Just as he’d been not too long ago.

It would certainly brighten his mood after the morning he’s had. He’s learned that the doctor Gilzean was so worried about is the owner of a diagnostics lab that ran false drug tests for addicts trying to get employed. Having met him, it makes sense now why Gilzean has kept him around for so long. Not even two weeks had passed since the last assistant had stopped by to collect revenue, and the money accrued in that time would have been enough to pay off the rent of his old apartment for months.

It also makes sense as to why Gilzean distrusts him so much. Ed’s gotten a fair share of criticism in the past that he liked to run his mouth, but that man was ridiculous. He’d just stopped by for a few minutes to retrieve revenue and bonds, and the man took the opportunity to complain about how unfair it was that no one trusted him. Somehow, the ramblings switched over from his own business to gossiping about the other bosses and their degenerate underlings. With everything he managed to spill in only a few minutes of conversation, it’s no wonder Gilzean had him singled out as a rat.

His _friendly chat_ with the doctor had set him back a good thirty minutes behind his schedule, much to his annoyance. He’d overheard some of the men mention earlier that Gilzean was piecing together a new plan, and with the delay, it was a conversation he’d surely miss out on.

Sure enough, by the time he reaches the mansion, he finds most of the other bosses leaving the house.

He lets out a frustrated sigh. At this rate, it would take months for him to come up with anything useful to his cause. He needed to find his opportunity and fast.

“Hey, you,” Gilzean calls out to him as he passes by the living room. “Get over here, string bean.”

Ed begrudgingly does as he’s asked, keeping the fake smile plastered on his face. “You need something, sir?”

“Did you get the money sorted out like I asked?”

“Yes sir, I made sure that any bonds being kept at the lab were spread out to the other stash houses.”

“Good. I was just telling Tabby I need more guys like you on my side. Guys that get things done when they’re told.” He slides over a small stack of papers. “That’s why I need you to do something for me.”

Ed takes the sheets and skims through them. The pages have pictures of a selection of people. Some of them are mugshots, others are pictures taken when the subject clearly wasn’t aware. Each image is accompanied with a name and address, many of which he recognizes as bases and past stashes.

“What’s this?”

“Like I said, I’ve been thinking about bringing in some new people. I figured we’d do a little spring cleaning, y’know? Make some room for the fresh meat.”

Ed snaps back to the pages, realizing that all of these people would soon be dead. At second glance, he remembers hearing some of these names brought up at meetings. These aren’t just a bunch of low-level nobodies, some of them have a real weight behind them.

“I’m having some of my guys stop by the warehouse on the docks tomorrow at midnight,” Gilzean explains. “Hand each of the ‘em a list, tell them to get it done by morning.”

The rational part of Ed’s mind tells him that it’s a bad idea. After so much chaos that’s happened over the last year, all the other bosses would want now is stability. If Gilzean wants to ensure their loyalty, he should be trying to form new bonds, not snuffing out any person he finds suspicious. It’s a sure-fire way to make the others panic, and there would definitely be meetings held in secret...But Ed doesn’t say that of course. If Gilzean splits his own empire apart, it makes his job all the more simple. If things continue this way, Gilzean will either be dead or run out of town by the end of it. Easy-peasy.

However, as he stares at the list, he finds he has another reason for his silence. A thought bubbles into his mind, a web of intrigue that’s sure to have people talking. It would be risky, if Gilzean suspected anything awry, he’d be dead for sure. It would be just as easy to let everything crumble on its own and stay safe, but where’s the fun in that? Why shouldn’t he expedite the process?

So he doesn’t refuse Gilzean’s request, but instead offers a polite smile.

“Sure thing, boss.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Gilzean sends him off with another one of those friendly slaps to the back. Ed cringes at the impact, before he’s stopped again. “Oh and, uh, get yourself some new clothes. I aint having one of my guys walking around looking like a hobo.”

“Will do,” he replies, absentmindedly. He’s already headed out the door thinking of the days ahead of him. If he plays his cards right, and he’ll have the entire organization under his thumb, but for that to happen, it needs to be perfect.

He has work to do.

 

 

 

After a successful night of formulating his plan, Ed spends the next morning on the final touches. He scours over the names, picking the ones he likes best. The people themselves hold little importance to him, but he might as well have fun with it where he can. He won’t need many, just enough to draw someone’s attention.

Their resident loudmouth doctor surprisingly hadn’t made the list. Gilzean must not have found a suitable replacement for him yet. It doesn’t matter, there’s a special role in this that Ed’s saved just for him.

“What is that you’re working on,” Elijah asks, noticing the pleased look on Ed’s face. They’re both sitting at the dining room table, happily eating away at a pair of omelettes Ed put together.

“I’m looking over a list of clients I’ll be meeting tonight.”

“Ah yes, I’m sure Oswald will be glad to hear of how well you’re adjusting.” Elijah sighs, his eyes distant with thoughts of his son. “I hope it’ll inspire him. He seemed so doubtful of himself when we last spoke.”

Yes, that was something he’d have to ask about. They planned on making a visit to Arkham after breakfast, Elijah having remembered to invite him along this time. It was the first chance he had to catch Oswald up on his progress, and he was dying to tell his plan to someone who’d appreciate it.

“Since we’re both still here, can you sign these release forms,” Ed asks, sliding some documents over to Elijah. “It’s so I can show the administrators at Arkham that I’m employed and have a place to live.”

“Of course I will.” Elijah gladly takes the forms, signing his name where directed.

“I hope you don’t mind me listing you as my current caretaker.”

“I’m more than happy by it. You’ve been a pleasure to have around here, don’t let my wife tell you otherwise,” he says with a wink. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”

“Thank you, sir. I do still plan on finding my own place to rent, once I’ve earned enough from work.”

“I don’t think we’ve discussed your job yet. What is it you’re doing?”

“My boss runs an organization that works with local businesses around the city. I assist him in managing his accounts and making sure funds are being used appropriately.”

Elijah nods. “You’ve got a lot of busy days ahead of you. Back when I was more directly involved in the business, I passed off a much work as I could to my assistant. Still, the pay was good, and they always got a free suit from it.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Ed chuckles. “Since you mentioned it, I was also wondering if maybe I could try on some of your merchandise. My boss wants me to have a new change of clothes.”

“Yes, yes. Anything you need. I’ll call up one of my men this afternoon, and then we...we can arrange…”

Ed looks up from his notes, brow pinched in concern. Elijah is staring ahead, eyes wide and hand pushing against his chest.

“Are you okay?”

It looks as if Elijah is trying to speak, but all that comes from his mouth is a low groan. In a matter of seconds, his skin has become alarmingly pale and sheens with cold sweat.

“No,” he manages between gasping breaths. “I don’t think I-”

The next moment, his face contorts in pain and his hand is clenched tightly into his chest. He slumps back into his chair as Ed rushes over to him, with little else he can do but watch as the older man falls unconscious. A quick check of his pulse, and Ed knows he’s still alive, but that he needs to move quickly.

He sets Elijah comfortably in his seat, before running off to phone the doctor.

 

**.**

**.**

 

If someone had told Oswald that something as simple as a positive attitude could solve all of your problems, he probably would have laughed before finding something hard to hit them over the head with. Preferably something large so that they wouldn’t wake up afterwards.

...But maybe there was some truth in it, just a little. Strange had promised him that turning his life around and would lead him to better places, and it seems as though he was correct.

After confessing to his father, he’d slept through the most pleasant slumber he’d had since arriving at Arkham. The nightmares that had plagued him since the beginning had vanished, the voices had died down. It had to have been some sort of sign, and from then on, he decided to follow the path he’d been gifted.

He wasn’t sure if he could say he was truly happy, but he certainly wasn’t the wreck he had been the week prior. Time didn’t move nearly as slowly now that he participated in group therapy, happily applying himself to the new craft they worked on that day. It also gave him time to rectify his relationship with Barbara Kean, who he’d found out was continuing her sentence at Arkham as well. He’d worried that she’d rebuke him, but she took his apologies with ease. With time, maybe they could be friends. The wonders of a clean conscience.

His luck continues as he’s brought into the visitor’s center one afternoon to find Ed sitting at the table.

“You’re here,” he gasps.

“Indeed I am,” Ed replies, a warm smile gracing his face. “How are you?”

“I’m fantastic.” He catches the puzzled look on Ed gives him, but pays it no mind as he takes his seat. “I missed you when father visited last week. Is he with you?

Ed grimaces at the question. “No. He wanted to be, but he couldn’t make it. He actually became quite ill just before we were planning to come.”

Well, so much for having all his problems solved.

“Oh my God. Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. He’s been having issues with his heart for years now so the doctors knew how to handle it. They said he just needs rest. It’s nothing to be worried about.”

Oswald sighs in relief. “Well, I’m glad you’re here at least.”

“As am I. If I’m being honest, I’m glad I have you here on my own, even if the circumstances are unpleasant. There’s a lot we need to catch up on.”

Ed leans in over the table and Oswald does the same.

“I’m in with Butch,” he says, keeping his voice low. “...and I’ve got a plan that will wipe him and his cronies off Gotham’s streets for good.”

Oswald swallows. He’d been anticipating this conversation for some time now, but he hadn’t wished to spoil the mood so quickly.

“What is it? What’s wrong,” Ed asks, noticing his discomfort.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done...but I think we should stop now while we’re ahead.”

The room is impossibly silent as Ed stares at him, stunned.

“What?”

“Professor Strange says that I’ll be cured in no time. If I’m good, I’ll be released on my own.”

“All the more reason we need to act quickly, then. If Butch hears you’re out of Arkham, he’ll be coming after you, and then we’d have to leave town.”

“Do we? I’m sure that if we explain the situation, he’ll leave us be. I’ll even name him as my successor if he wants. He’s been invested in the business years before I was. I’m sure the other bosses will be fine without me.”

“I don’t care about their goddamn well being,” Ed snaps. “This is about getting your throne back from that ape.”

Oswald sighs. “I know. I don’t want that anymore. I just want to live a quiet, peaceful life now, with my family.”

“Wait,” Ed chuckles, though it’s obvious he finds it far from funny. “Are you saying those things you told your father…”

“I mean every word of it. I’m a changed man, a better one. I see now that violence and anger isn’t the answer.”

Ed blinks, before he settles into a mild annoyance. “Wow. They’ve done a pretty good job on you, haven’t they?”

“Yes they have. You can still change too.”

“Cool,” he replies with a tight smile. “Tempting offer. The thing is...I’ve got a good thing going here, I’m kinda hitting my stride.”

“I know that you were working hard on this, but I don’t want you to get yourself killed because of me-”

“I’m not doing it for you.”

Oswald tenses at the harsh words. To his credit, Ed does appear embarrassed by his behavior the moment later.

“Then...why are you doing it?”

Ed pauses at the question, eyes drifting away as he searches for the answer. After a moment, he returns his gaze and his lips quirk into a small smile.

“I’m doing it...for us.”

“Us?”

“You told me that you were going to make me your partner when we got out of here, did you mean that?”

Oswald nods. “Yes, of course.”

“Then as your partner, I need you to trust me in this. I want to get you out of this place and back ruling over Gotham, because I know that it’s what you’re destined for. You’re not just some average citizen doomed to spend his life under someone else’s thumb. You’re more than capable of greater things than that.”

Oswald sits still in his seat, though to him it feels likes he’s melting away. The way Ed speaks is calm and comforting, and the honesty in his compliments leaves him feeling fevered. He wants now, more than anything, to grab hold of Ed’s hand, but he represses the urge.

He shakes his head. “Everything that we’re doing now is a risk, and I think the cost of losing that risk is too much. I don’t want you to get hurt because of me. I’ve put so many through that pain already-”

He doesn’t get to finish his thought, because it’s Ed’s hand that reaches out to cover his own before he can. His breath stops in his chest as he watches Ed’s fingers clasp around his.

“You helped me so much while I was here.” Oswald turns his gaze up, staring into earnest eyes. “I’m grateful for everything you’ve taught me, let me use it to help you now.”

“Okay,” he whispers, having trouble speaking any louder that. “...But promise me you’ll be careful.”

At that, Ed offers him one of those warm smiles that he loves to see.

“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”

 

 

 

There’s not a whole lot for Barbara to do in Arkham these days, now that her companions are gone and the facility’s management is actually competent. The free time she has is spent staring out the windows, thinking back on her life and watching the goings on outside the building. Most of the people that pass below are looking worse for wear, either potential patients or their distressed families. Every so often she sees someone who’s not so unfortunate.

An unfamiliar man walks by today. Tall, lanky, a thick pair of glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose. For a brief moment, he turns to look back at the building and she manages a glimpse at the cold and calculating eyes hidden behind the spectacles.

 _Probably someone’s lawyer_ , she figures as she watches him walk off towards a black vehicle.

The sound of the gate opening draws her attention. She watches as Oswald waddles back into the rec room, a wide, goofy smile plastered over his face. When he finds the table she’s sitting at, he trots over to her, sitting down at the seat across from her.

When she found out that they were both inmates at Arkham, she was prepared for the inevitable confrontation between them. She had been conspiring with the people that were responsible for murdering his mother, after all.

What she hadn’t expected was for him to come begging to her for forgiveness, blathering about how he needed to make amends for everything he’d done to her. He claimed that it was his fault that she’d followed the downward spiral into villainy, recollecting on how it was because of him that she’d been introduced to crime in the first place. It was as if any part of her involvement with Theo Galavan was made irrelevant, and far be it for her to say otherwise.

After she’d accepted the apology, it seemed he’d begun to see her as a companion. At his worse, he’s a little spacey, but being weirded out was better than being threatened.

“You look happy,” she remarks.

“A friend of mine visited me today.”

“Oh?”

“His name’s Ed,” he smiles wider. “He’s going to take me away from this place.”

Barbara offers him a tight smile in return. “That’s nice. I wish I were so lucky, none of my friends came to visit me. You guys must have something special.”

“Yes it is actually,” Oswald blushes. “I think it might be something more than friendship.”

She raises her brows. “Really?”

He nods. “For the longest time, I thought it was just me that felt it, but I really think he might like me back.”

She tries to imagine the kind of person that would want to be romantically involved with an insane ex-crime boss. It’s probably one of those weird tabloid readers that thinks they can connect with killers and even change them for the better. Maybe he doesn’t exist, just another one of Oswald’s hallucinations. Even so, she doesn’t want to hurt his little feelings over it, not after they’ve formed this shakey pseudo-friendship.

Besides, if someone like Penguin can find love, maybe there’s still hope for her...

“Well, maybe your boyfriend can see about getting me out too,” she teases, and Oswald chuckles himself.

 

**.**

**.**

 

Ed’s already been at the docks for half an hour when midnight rolls around. It doesn’t take long before cars begin driving up to the warehouse, with around ten of Gilzean’s men meeting him. With five people assigned to each goon, this night is sure to filled with blood. It’s just what he needs.

“Hello gentlemen. I assume Mr. Gilzean has already informed you as to why you’re here.” He passes out the lists. “Make it quick, keep it clean, report back here before sunrise.”

“What about the guy with his name crossed out,” asks one of the men, pointing to his list. Of the five people listed, one of the names had been scratched out in green ink. “Yeah, I’ve got one like that too,” says another one.

“Anyone with their name crossed out is off the list. Mr. Gilzean decided some of these people might still be useful, he wants to keep them around a little longer.”

The men shrug, not bothering to question him further. Once they’re all gone, he makes his way back to his own car and pulls out his personal list of names. He finds the first address on his list, and drives himself away from the docks.

It’s thirty minutes later when he reaches his destination, a small bar deep in the Narrows. The workers are still hanging around the entrance and locking up as he parks his car across the street. As he waits for them to finish, he gets his chance to survey the building. The light in the office above still shines down through the window, letting him no the owner is still there. The front doors are tightly gated, but he sees another worker walk out from the alley, meaning there has to be another entrance at the back.

In the quiet, anxious moments that follow, he catches sight of his face in the rear-view mirror, although the person looking back at him the smarmy grin isn’t him.

“ _You think you’re ready for this_?”

“I know I am.”

“ _Oh look at you_ . _Such a big day for the special boy_ ,” the reflection chides.

Ed ignores the voice, watching intensely as the workers say their goodbyes. Only a few minutes later, and the street is empty. He reaches into the backseat and grabs his bag, looking through it one last time before he decides he has everything he needs.

He he slips on his gloves and opens the door as the reflection gives one last sign off.

“ _Maybe try to keep your calm this time_ . _Wouldn’t want you to get performance anxiety and fuck it up_.”

“Shut up.” He slams the door shut behind him, leaving the voice behind.

Making sure no one is watching, he runs into alley and finds the back door. He quickly picks the lock, stepping inside and walking the dark hallways and up the stairs. The building is small enough that it’s less than a minute before he finds the right room.

There’s little chance of him being successful if he’s too aggressive, so he doesn’t try to barge in. Instead, he knocks softly against the door, receiving a muffled “What?” in reply. He takes that as his invitation to enter.

The room’s sole occupant stands in the shadows, rummaging through files. The room is cluttered with business files and the scent of alcohol and something rotten invades the room. Ed sees a fruit bowl sitting on the desk, effectively finding the source of the stench. Most of the fruit is bruised and dark, with only a few apples that are still worth eating.

“Are you Jack Rossi?”

“Who wants t'know,” the figure asks, turning around. There’s a pause. “Do I know you?”

Ed’s first instinct is to say no, but hearing his voice does bring a sense of familiarity. “I’m not sure.”

There’s a pause before the figure chuckles, pointing towards him.

“Now I remember you, you’re that guy that showed up on my stairs a few weeks ago.”

When the man finally steps out of the darkness, it is indeed a face that Ed recognizes. That same repulsive face he remembers standing at Miss Kringle’s door.

“Oh yes,” he smiles. “Small world.”

“So what’re ya doin’ here, creep,” Rossi asks, picking an apple from the bowl and taking a bite.

“Butch Gilzean is looking to clear out some of his old associates. I was wondering if that’s something you’d be interested in.”

“So you’re workin’ for Gilzean, huh?” Rossi looks him over with mild disbelief, but shrugs to himself. He turns back to his desk and sorts through some the sheets strewn about. “If he wants me to pull a hit, the money better be worth my time.”

“Don’t worry about that, you get the easy job,” Ed replies, checking his watch. “I don’t have much time to chat, I got two more people I’m meeting tonight.”

“Well I’d rather not waste my time either, so why don’t you run back to your boss and tell him I-”

Rossi doesn’t get to finish his demands before Ed rams into him. The knife he’d pulled from his bag is lodged deeply into Rossi’s back. It isn’t until he’s slid the knife back out that Rossi makes any noise. He yells, but the sound is cut off as Ed cuts into him again, pushing the air out of his lungs.

He withdraws again, panting as Rossi falls to the floor in agony.

“Wow,” he laughs. “That felt _really_ good.”

He watches Rossi writhe on the floor, his heaving, ragged breathes only stopping as he starts to cough, a small stream of blood dribbling from his mouth. Any strength he has bleeds out in a dark puddle on the carpet. He yells out for his men to find him, but there’s no one who hasn’t left already. He’s helpless. It’s a sight to behold.

It’s nothing like killing Dougherty. Ed hadn’t had the time to savor the act when he was so scared of being caught. Though he has to admit, he misses the rush he’d had from killing out in the streets, the fear of being seen absent from his victim’s circumstances. Hopefully the next one will have a little more thrill to offer.

He leans over the man dying before him taking the fruit from his desk and silencing his shouting. With the apple shoved into his mouth, Rossi doesn’t try to speak. He stares up at his assailant, the question burning in his eyes in between flickers of anger and fear.

_Why me?_

“For the record, I wasn’t planning on it being you,” Ed answers, stabbing the knife into the Rossi’s chest. The blood curdled groan that follows it is heavenly in his ears. “That’s just an added bonus, I guess.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. The next chapter should be coming sooner than the last one.


	16. -

 

 

While there had been many unfortunate circumstances upon Elijah’s introduction to his son, there were many smaller things that brought him great happiness. For one thing, he was glad to find out his son has inherited his taste in fashion. Every news story that pictured him showed him wearing a dark tuxedo and his hair gelled into a tuft. While the suits themselves were much cheaper than what he had to offer, he couldn’t deny that his son had style.

When he made the decision to stop by Arkham that afternoon, suggesting he’d get started on a new suit for his son, he was overjoyed at Oswald’s enthusiasm. They spent most of their time looking through fabric swatches. Oswald favored the more violet hues, and it was no wonder. Purple was the color of royalty, and while he was no longer the self-proclaimed king of Gotham, there was no doubt in his mind that Oswald would amount to something great. His son was a distinguished man, even if others, nor Oswald himself, could see that.

They work through a few concepts until they come up with a final suit for him to work on. Between the design and choice of Italian fabrics, there’s no doubt that his son has style.

“A man can say so much about himself by what he wears,” he remarks as he wraps the measure around Oswald’s chest.

“I couldn't agree more.”

He takes his monocle from the breast pocket of his jacket, inspecting the measurement down to the last millimeter. When he looks up he sees Oswald staring at the lens with intrigue.

“I weep for today's casual youth,” he chuckles, and Oswald does too.

“I was just thinking I could use one those,” he jokes, pointing to his eye. “Why buy glasses when you only need one?”

“That’s true,” Elijah laughs. “How did you come by that, if I may ask? A trophy from your criminal days?”

“Actually, it happened when I first got here. Ed and I got in a fight and he ended up choking me. I guess the pressure cause a vessel to burst.”

Elijah takes a step back, eyes wide and concerned. “Edward did that to you?”

“Yes, but not unprovoked,” he insists. “We didn’t get along so well when we first met, and I wasn’t the nicest person to be around.”

Elijah purses his lips. He’s dubious, but he decides not to push further.

“I won’t argue with you,” he sighs, continuing with the measurements. Once he finishes, his arms fall weakly to the side.

“Are you okay,” Oswald asks.

“Yes, just a little winded is all.” He takes a seat as Oswald uses the break to look back over the some of the sketches. “Just give me some time to rest, and we can get back to your suit.”

“Are you sure you should be here,” he asks. “I don’t want you to strain yourself.”

“Oh, please, I’m fine. You shouldn’t worry about me, my boy. One heart attack isn’t going to kill me now.”

At that, his son snaps around, eyes wide. “You had a heart attack?!”

“Yes, didn’t Edward tell you?”

“No.” He sets the sketches down on the table, kneeling next to his seat.“He said you were sick, but that it wasn’t serious.”

“There’s no reason to fret now,” Elijah says, giving his son a comforting pat on the shoulder. “I’m much better, as you can see.”

“Sure, you’re fine now, but that could have been the last time I had a chance to see you. If I had known I would have asked the Professor for permission to visit. Ed talked about it like it was no big deal, and he was so sweet to me when we spoke I didn’t think…” He trails off. He glances over at Elijah, and then away out of embarrassment.

“What?”

“It’s nothing just...I thought we were really starting understand each other is all,” he says, but Elijah can’t miss the light blush blooming over his son’s face. It doesn’t take him long to piece his words together.

“I see,” he smiles knowingly and Oswald blushes harder. “I hadn’t realized you’re relationship with him was anything more than friendship. He never mentioned any of it to me.”

“Yeah, it seems he does that a lot,” Oswald says, rolling his eyes. He looks back to Elijah with a squeamish gaze.“Are you upset by it?”

“Of course not,” he scoffs. “I’m happy that you’ve been able to find someone. God knows I wish I could say the same for myself. Don’t get me wrong, I care for Grace, but there’s only one person I’ve ever truly been in love with.”

“Yeah, well maybe I’m still waiting on it,” Oswald huffs, crossing his arms. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me.”

“I’m sure he didn’t want you to worry is all. If you must know, I’ve had a hole in my heart for some time now. I’ve been prescribed countless medications over the years, but science can’t stop the inevitable. I don’t have any fear of death, but I certainly won’t go out without a fight. Many doctors have told me of my mortality, and I’ve proven them all wrong over the years. There’s no need to worry for me.”

Oswald smiles, though there is nothing but melancholy in it. “I wish I could live without such worries. I don’t think I’ll ever be free of my crimes.”

Elijah places his hand over Oswald’s shoulder in earnest. “...But of course you can. You mustn’t ruminate over what happened in the past. Our lives started when I met you here, nothing before that concerns me. I forgive you for all your past transgressions. Be free of them and live on in peace.”

“If only it were so easy,” Oswald says through a watery sigh. ”I can’t stop thinking of everyone I’ve wronged. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make up for it.”

It breaks his heart to see his son so distraught, but it also fills him with determination. There’s little he can do for Oswald while he’s locked away, but he can make sure he’s taken care of when he gets out, even if he isn’t lucky enough to see it himself.

For now, he gives Oswald the words that he wishes he could have said all those years ago to his father.

“The path you’re taking is a hard one, but you must never give in to pain.” He pulls Oswald into his chest, wrapping his arms around him it a warm hug. “Remember that you are loved and you are not alone. The sun will always come up tomorrow.”

 

**.**

**.**

 

The disco pulsing through the club sends jolts through Ed’s veins as he passes through the crowd. Despite the mob of dancers swayed into euphoric daze, he manages to find his way through.

The suit he’s wearing is one custom made by one of Elijah’s designers, bright green and slim. The reflective emerald green fabric glows bright under the blacklights, making it easy for people to see him coming and move out of his way. It also brings him a fair share of curious glances. Whether they’re glances approval or repulsion, he doesn’t care. A statement is a statement after all.

The drug-fueled revelers might find his presence a bit dull, but he didn’t come here to dance. Off to the side of the dance floor are booths, in which he finds his current  target. He’s sitting just off to the side of the dance floor, his dark suit an odd choice among the neon on the dance floor. His attention is occupied by his usual flock of women clad in similar attire, so he doesn’t notice as Ed approaches their table.

“Victor Zsasz,” he inquires over the music, and the man glances over at him.

“Do I know you?”

“Maybe you recognize me. You came to my work once, looking for Jim Gordon.”

“Hm, GCPD…” He thinks it over, before shaking his head. “Nope, don’t remember you.”

“Well, I was in the back,” Ed says, offering a tight smile. “I’m here on behalf of Oswald Cobblepot.”

After a pause of surprise, Zsasz smiles. “Ah, okay. Well as you can see, I’m off duty for the night. Why don’t we settle this tomorrow, make it a proper showdown and all?”

Ed cocks his head. “What?”

“Oh, maybe we can do it wild west style,” he suggests, voice full of childish excitement. “We meet at high noon, standing out in the middle of the street. I’ll come with my guns, you with your...whatever, and then we’ll see who makes it out alive.”

“I’m not here to kill you, Zsasz. I have a proposition.”

Zsasz pouts, disappointed. “Have a seat I guess.”

“Can we do this somewhere more private,” Ed asks, staring back at one of the women, who smiles at him.

“My girls won’t talk,” Zsasz insists, patting the cushion next to him.

Ed sighs, as he scoots his way through the sea of legs. Once he’s managed his way to the seat, one of the women next to him shoves a drink into his hands, which he takes with a tight smile.

“So what’s this proposition of yours,” Zsasz asks as he takes a sip of his own drink.

“What are your thoughts on Butch Gilzean?”

Zsasz considers the question. “I worked on him for Falcone, turned him into a puppet for Penguin to use,” he shrugs. “Not the most fun person to have as a boss, kind of boring. His nephew’s a little shit.”

“I’m not much a fan of his either. It seems that we have something in common.”

Zsasz chuckles. “Look man, I get what you’re trying to do here, but I’m not just gonna turncoat just like that.”

Ed scoffs. “Oh please, everyone knows your only loyalties lie in Falcone. Anyone else is fair game.”

“Loyalty’s got nothing to do with it, friend. Even if I did knock off Butch, someone else would take his place, and I know it aint gonna be Penguin.”

“You’re so sure of that?”

“I know for a fact that he’s not the same person he was before. I got a call from him a few days ago asking if I’d forgive him for forcing me to murder politicians,” Zsasz laughs. “Poor bastard doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. Those Arkham people fixed him up and set him straight.”

 _I really do need to get him off this forgiveness kick_ , Ed thinks, rolling his eyes. “Let me worry about Oswald. I just need you to stir things up until I can get him ready to take the throne.”

“It’s not happening,” Zsasz insists. “Besides, killing Butch wouldn’t be too great for my record. It doesn’t look good to potential clients when you kill the guy you’re workin’ for.”

“You won’t be the one killing Butch Gilzean, not directly at least,” Ed explains. “I’m working on something that will remove him from his seat permanently. All I need from you is to distract him so I can work my magic.”

“You think you’re the only one trying to get rid of Butch? After that kill spree last week, I’ve had people come asking me to put a bullet in his head every single day. Even if you succeeded, you’ve got a long line of other bosses with way more title than you that you’d have to fight to the top. You’re playing the lottery here, and your chances aren’t great.”

“True, but even if my chances of winning are next to zero, they will always be higher than not playing at all.”

“...What?”

“When you play the lottery, one’s chances of winning so low that they’re are always next to zero,” Ed explains.”...But the only way it would ever be zero is if they weren’t playing.”

Zsasz just stares at him, looking more confused. “Okay, so if you have next to zero...which is less then one...or-”

“Don’t think too hard on it, it’s a metaphor. Just know there’s a chance it will work, and when it does, the rewards will be plentiful.” He leans in closer. “You’ve been sitting on the sidelines for too long, Zsasz, I’ll make sure your talents are put to use.”

Zsasz takes a moment to think it over one last time.

“One question. You said I won’t be killing Butch, do I still get to kill people?”

Ed smiles. “You get to kill a lot of people.”

Zsasz shrugs. “Alright, I’m in.”

“Excellent.” They clink their glasses together, each of them taking a sip and sealing the agreement.

“So, let’s talk price,” Ed starts, but is interrupted as his pocket begins vibrating. He pulls out his cell phone and answers.

“Hello?”

“ _Ed? It’s me Jim._ ”

_Jim? What does he want?_

“What a pleasant surprise, how are you?”

Jim doesn’t answer. “ _Are you at a club right now?_ ”

“Yes. I apologize for the music. Hold on.” He glances over at Zsasz. “We’ll talk later,” he says and receives a small wave in return. He scoots his way out from the booth and finds the exit. The air outside the club is quiet and much less stuffy, the cool breeze a much needed reprieve from the sweat-filled heat.

“So what’s going on,” he asks, raising the phone back to his ear.

“ _I was hoping I could talk to you, if you’re not too busy._ ”

“I’m not busy at all. What is it?”

“ _I’d prefer it if we discussed this face to face. I’m at the diner we ate at last time we met._ ”

“Alright, I’ll be right over.”

“ _Thanks Ed_ ,” Jim says, and then the line cuts off.

 

**.**

**.**

 

The diner is nearly empty when he gets there, making it easy for him to find Jim sitting alone at a booth towards the back.

“Hello, Jim.” His eyes are sunken and baggy, like he hasn’t slept in a long while. He’s given up on shaving regularly, leaving him with a little stubble.

“Ed.” His voice sounds as tired as he looks. When he actually gets a better look, his eyes go wide. “You got a new suit.”

“Yes! It was custom made for me. Do you like it?”

“It’s very...loud. What were you doing at a club?”

 _Why does_ anybody _go to club?_ He curses how suspicious the man always is, like he can sense when he’s up to no good.

“I was working,” he lies.

“Really?”

“Yes, I was at a meeting with some clients of mine,” he says, taking the seat across from Jim.

Jim’s eyes widen. “You were meeting with clients...at a dance club,” he asks. “What are you doing for work exactly?”

“I guess you say I’m an accountant,” Ed replies. “Work a lot with money.”

“An accountant,” Jim sighs. “Are you enjoying it?”

Ed shrugs. “It pays the bills, and it’d make my dad proud I guess.”

“That’s nice.”

“I’m guessing your work has been a tense, considering this little scandal you’ve got going.”

Jim cringes. “You’ve heard about that, huh?”

“I have.” He’d heard everything. He’d been eagerly listening to the radio as they first broadcasted news of the lawsuit. Since then, he’d started a collection of any article he could find mentioning it. He’d even considered recording some of the news stories about it, but decided against it. “Don’t worry, I have nothing but faith in you. When that trial comes and goes, the truth will be plain to see.”

Jim gives him a lopsided smile. “Thanks Ed. You’re one of the few people that still believes that. It’s down to you and Harvey, now.”

“Dr. Thompkins as well, I suppose.” Jim casts his eyes down, face slack in sadness. Ed’s brows shoot up in shock. “She doesn’t?...But you’re starting a family together.”

Jim’s eyes glaze over. “No, actually, we’re not. It didn’t work out.”

It doesn’t take long for him to understand what Jim is implying. He admits, it isn’t something he’d wanted to come from this.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, honestly. “How is Dr. Thompkins?”

“I don’t know,” Jim confesses with a sad voice. “She was very distraught when it happened. A few days later when I came back home from the station, she was gone.”

“Oh.” There’s a small amount of guilt that bubbles in his gut, but he supposes it would be hypocritical of him to feel such things. He’d wanted Jim to suffer, and that he surely has.

“She left a number, but…I think maybe some time apart would be good.”

“What about you? How are you doing?”

Jim sighs. “I’m going to be honest, I didn’t ask you to come so we could catch up. I’m hoping to get your opinion on a case I’m working on.”

“Oh?” He’s a bit disappointed in the change of subject, but also curious by the request. “How does our esteemed captain feel about you consulting me?”

“Barnes...doesn’t know about this.”

“Right. I guess I should have realized-“

The chiming of the bell at the front door draws their attention. A man walks into the diner, one that Ed doesn’t remember seeing before. He makes his way over to their booth, and is greeted with a friendly handshake from Jim.

“Have a seat, Lucius.”

The man takes his seat as he addresses Ed.

“You must be Mr. Nygma. It’s nice to finally meet you,” he says, extending his arm out. Ed regards him quietly.

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Lucius Fox, I work at Wayne Enterprise. Detective Gordon called me in for consultation on the case.”

He hadn’t expected Jim to involve someone else in this. He takes a moment to consider the man before him, before reluctantly accepting the handshake. “It’s nice to meet you,” he says before turning his gaze back over to Jim. “So what’s this all about?”

Jim retrieves a briefcase that was laying at his feet. “Last week, Butch Gilzean sent his lackeys out on a killing spree against his own men. At least fifty people that we know of were targeted.”

Ed feigns his surprise. “Oh my, that’s a lot of murder for one day.”

“Most of the victims were killed off in standard mafioso fashion, but a few of them sported wounds that caught our attention.”

Jim reaches into the case and pulls out a stack of files. He lays out three separate folders, each of them labeled with names Ed immediately recognizes.

“We think these people were killed for reasons outside of mob business, but we also don’t think it was a coincidence. The murderer probably knew of the mob’s plans and timed it so that the bodies wouldn’t be found as quickly.”

Jim opens the first folder revealing the face of a middle-aged red haired woman.

“The first victim is a lady called Red Fox, real name Angela Rossi. She managed a strip club nearby Coventry, and dabbled in selling narcotics on the side. She was found with sections of her spine removed and this book in her hands.” He takes out a book that’s been sealed away in a plastic bag. It’s titled as _Murdering Midnight,_  authored by one Grant Smith.

“The murderer also used her blood to write this on the wall.”Jim pulls a photograph from the file picturing the message Ed had painted in her office.

 

_I have a spine, but no bone._

_Open me and I will not bleed._

 

“The second victim also worked at a strip club, but he works was more involved with the sex trade than drugs,” he says opening the second folder. The subject’s pale face is familiar, although heavily marred with bruises. He hadn’t had time to stick around and admire how his victim had transformed post-mortem.

“His name was Pete Stewart, but at his work, he went by the name Mr. Midnight. Since it matched up so well with the book we found with Miss Rossi, we figured the murderer intended for us to connect the crime scenes. He was beaten to death, and had an apple shoved into his mouth after death. Again, the murderer wrote a message on the wall.”

 

_My skin will bruise, though I will not bleed,_

_when you take a bite from me._

 

“There was a piece bitten out from the apple, that didn’t match with our victim’s dentition. They ending up matching with our last victim, Jonathan Rossi. He worked at a bar that doubled as gunrunning base. He was discovered having been stabbed to death, with over forty wounds covering his body and a copy of the _Gotham Gazette_ in his right hand. Again, his killer left message on the wall.”

 

_I can make you bleed with a single cut._

_You’ll live forever on me, as the rest of you rots._

 

“Wow,” Ed says, looking over the evidence files. “This seems like overkill for a simple mob killing.”

“We’re still trying to understand the motive. Given the precision of the injuries and removal of bone, we’ve concluded that the murderer has some minimal medical knowledge. They also would have to have some involvement in gang activity in order to know about the other killings.”

“I’m sure there’s a number of medical practitioners that extend their service to the mob,” Ed says. “Do you have anything else for your profile?”

“No fingerprints, no hairs, the handwriting doesn’t match anyone in the database. We’ve been trying to find the pattern in how the killer’s choosing their victims, but so far we’ve got nothing. None of them were well known to each other. The first two victims both worked the sex trade, but not the third. The first and third victims had the same last name, but not the second. The last two victims were both men, but not the first.”

“How interesting…”

It’s then that Fox decides to jump in. “As of late we’ve been referring this killer as the Snipe.”

Ed blinks. “You’re calling them what now?”

“The name’s based off of the Snipe Hunt,” Fox explains. “It’s a kind of prank counselors like to play on kids at summer camp. They send them off into the woods to capture a creature they call a snipe, but it doesn’t really exist.”

“I see,” Ed nods. It’s certainly not the best of names, but it’ll do for now. “So what you’re suggesting is that your killer is being intentionally chaotic.”

“It appears that way. The only pattern we’ve found is the obsession with blood, but Gordon and I both think there’s something more hidden here.”

“Barnes wasn’t too enthusiastic with the direction I’ve been taking the investigation,” Jim explains, bitterly. “He’s too busy being suspicious of me, so my resources are limited. You’re the best person I know when it comes to riddles, I figured you’re opinion would be our best bet at figuring this out.”

“I’m flattered,” Ed smiles. He looks down over the files, scanning over the evidence they’d managed to collect. Whoever their new forensic analyst was, they did a fair job compiling the evidence. He could have done better, but that was beside the point.

He hadn’t expected Jim to need his help with this, he was always the quickest one to solve Ed’s riddles back when they worked together. Perhaps he had been a bit too disorganized when he’d laid out the scene. He wanted there to be distraction, but not so much that it went unsolvable. He can throw them a bone this one time.

“How are you thinking the blood plays into it,” he asks.

“We’re not sure. All the victims have different blood types from one another. Given the first two victims’ connection with sex trafficking, there was initial suspicion that the murderer is a hematolagniac, but the last victim doesn’t match with that profile.”

Ed takes the copy of the book in his hands, pretending to look it over before placing it in front of the other two men.

_Let’s see which one of them gets it first._

“Maybe the different blood types is a clue. Perhaps the killer is saying the pattern isn’t in the victims, but the objects themselves,” he suggests. “Each of the riddles corresponds to the object found at the scene. The murderer obviously wanted to draw attention to them.”

“That’s true,” Jim says. “...But how does an apple relate to books and newspapers?”

“I’m not sure. School, perhaps,” Ed suggests.

“Possibly, but that seems pretty vague,” Fox remarks. “The clues connecting all the victims have been more specific...”

He trails off as his gaze turns down to the book in front of him. He stares blankly at the cover before reading the author’s name aloud.

“Grant E. Smith...”

To an onlooker Ed might seem to be watching Fox with expected curiosity, but inside, he’s vibrating with excitement. It seems Jim isn’t the only one with a detective’s intuition.

“What is it,” Jim asks.

“The apple with Rossi’s bite mark, what color was it?”

Jim looks back over the notes. “Bright green. Why?”

“That’s the Granny Smith strain,” Fox says. He takes the news paper, reading through the pages. “I’ll bet you anything there’s something in here related to that.”

He separates the pages, giving each of them a stack to scan over. They share suggestions on what to look for, (Something to do with apples, perhaps?) Nothing comes from it until...

“I’ve got it,” Jim says, turning one of the pages for them to see. At the top corner of the page is a small advertisement for Granny’s Homemade Goods. “Says here it’s located on East Smith Street.”

“That’s got to be our answer,” Fox agrees. “What does a convenience store have to do with our killer?”

“Maybe one of the employees is next on the list,” Ed suggests.

“Most likely.” His gaze shifts as he looks over the picture. “Wait a minute.”

“What do you see,” Jim asks.

“Look there.” Fox points up the corner of the advertisement. In the background, behind the store, are rows of smaller business. One in particular stands out. “That looks like a diagnostic lab.”

 _Well done Foxy_ , Ed thinks to himself. A small smile quirks at the corner of his lips.

“They deal with blood sampling there, right?”

“Oh yeah, big time,” Fox nods. “You think it’s worth checking out?”

“Yes, definitely,” Ed cuts in. Both men glance over at him. “I think there’s a good chance your murderer is involved with that business. How else would they know about the ad?”

“That’s true.” Jim takes a few moments to consider his options. “I’ll get a warrant for us to search the premises. If we don’t find anything, maybe the culprit is actually targeting someone there. At the very least, we can set out a trap for when they come.”

“That’s a good plan, I like it,” Ed says, giving a thumbs up. He stands up from his seat. “Well gentlemen, this night has been quite interesting, but I need to go.”

“You don’t want to stay for coffee,” Jim asks.

“Nah, I should be getting back to work. I wouldn’t want to keep my clients waiting for too long.”

“Right, clients,” Jim repeats as Fox sends him an odd glance. “Thanks for coming, I appreciate it.”

“Thank _you_ for inviting me.”

Fox stands, holding his hand out for a handshake that Ed accepts. “It was nice meeting you Mr. Nygma, I hope I’ll see you again.”

“I’d be glad to.” _I’ll need to keep my eye on this one_ , he thinks. He drops the handshake and gives Jim one last farewell. “Good luck detective. Go get that bad guy.”

As he heads for the door, he can’t help but feel proud of himself. With Zsasz and Gordon exactly where he needs them, his plan is unfolding just as he’d hoped. It’s been quite the productive day indeed.

 

 

 

“Hey Jim,” Lucius asks once Ed’s out of earshot. “I don’t mean to pry into your friend’s personal life, but is he-”

“A prostitute? No.”

“I’m sorry. I hope you don’t find my asking rude.”

Jim waves him off. “Don’t worry about it, I was just wondering the same thing.”

 

 


	17. -

 

 

When Oswald is sent over to the visitor’s center, he knows Ed’s going to be there. He’s glad for it, not just because he enjoys the company of his friend, but because he has questions that he needs answers to.

When the door opens, he walks in with determination.

“Ed-,” he starts, but whatever he had planned to say is stuck in his throat as he takes in the sight in front of him. There’s a table cloth spread over the bench top with two plates set out across from one another.

“Hello Oswald,” Ed replies, enthused by his friends surprise.

“What is all of this?”

“I brought lunch,” he answers, digging through the pack he has sitting next to him. He pulls out a pair of sandwiches wrapped in paper, placing one on each plate. “I figured it’s been awhile since you had a taste of anything other than that slop they serve in the cafeteria.”

Oswald takes his seat, mouth watering at the sight of real food. Picking up the sandwich, he finds that the bread has been cut open at the top.

“Mine is full of holes.”

“Yeah,” Ed grimaces. “The guards insisted on checking the food. I don’t know what they were expecting to find, it’s not like you couldn’t find a shiv in here if we needed it.”

Oswald holds as much of the sandwich in place as he can, then takes a bite. The meal itself is a fairly simple, but he can taste the intricacy behind each bite. The bread and vegetables are hand cut and fresh, the meat is something straight from the butcher, and there’s a spread of mustard that’s definitely from a jar and not squeezed from a bottle. It’s delectable and unnecessarily gourmet. As if he’d expect anything less from Ed.

“How is it?”

“Amazing,” he groans, taking another bite. Ed beams at the praise.

“So I figured I’d get you all caught up while we ate,” he says, taking a bite out of his own sandwich. “Gordon is pretty shaken up from the lawsuit, but he’s still working with the GCPD, although I don’t know how long that’s going to last...But he did let me get a peek at the progress they’ve made on the little puzzle I set up for them. Everything’s coming together so perfectly, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Right now, Butch doesn’t suspect a thing, but once the police finally get involved, everything will fall apart. Oh, I also talked to Zsasz and he’s agreed to help us. I’ll need to pay him, but I’ve already figured out where I’m getting the money from so-”

“Ed, I’m going to ask you something, and I need a straightforward answer from you, no riddles.”

Ed pauses at the disruption. His mouth twitches, but he shrugs it off. “Okay, what is it?”

“Are you doing all this as a friend, or is something else happening here?”

Ed stares at him blankly. “I thought my intentions were pretty clear.”

“Well, pretend that they’re not and I’m not sure if you’re just being overly friendly with me out of pity.”

“Of course I’m not,” he says. When he sees the look of doubt Oswald gives him, he sighs and places his sandwich back down on his plate. “Okay, I know I had my reservations about all of this, but I wasn’t expecting it to happen, I didn’t know what to think. When I really took time thought about...I don’t know, I couldn’t think of any reason not to go along with it.”

“It’s good to know you were trying to talk yourself out of it,” Oswald says, rolling his eyes.

“You know what I mean,” Ed huffs. “I’ve been thinking a lot on it since I left, and then when I saw you last time, I realized how much I missed having you with me. I already liked having you as my friend, why not see where it takes me, you know?”

“So what you’re telling me is that you want to be more than friends.” Ed nods. “Really?”

“Yes. I really do.”

Oswald releases a long breath, and the heaviness is replaced with a joy that leaves him weightless. “That’s good to know.”

“I haven’t mentioned it to anyone yet. I see Elijah everyday, and I don’t want it to risk being awkward if he doesn’t approve.”

At the mentioning of his father’s name, he remembers the conversation he’d been hoping to have from the start.

“Actually, he knows about it already.”

“You told him?”

“Not exactly, he figured it out on his own.”

“He hasn’t mentioned anything to me about it,” Ed says, brows furrowed in confusion. “What does he think about it?”

“He says he’s fine with it. I guess now I can tell him it’s a sure thing,” Oswald looks Ed in the eye, making sure he has his full attention. “I’m really happy that you’ve given me a chance...But if we’re going to be doing this, I think we need to start with a serious talk about what we expect from one another.”

“Like what?”

“Well to start, if you’re going to be my partner, then I think I deserve a little more honesty from you.” Before Ed can ask what he means, Oswald asks him,”Why didn’t you tell me my father had a heart attack?”

Ed cocks his head. “I did.”

“No, you told me he was sick, you didn’t tell me it was that serious.”

“I didn’t think it was. He’s fine now.”

“Yes, but it still concerning!”

“I’m sorry. If something like that happens again I’ll be sure to tell you everything. I just didn’t want to worry you while you’re still here. Not when…” His voice halts with hesitation.

“What is it?”

“I didn’t want to tell you this yet, but I suppose now’s as good a time as any. I don’t have any proof on hand, but I suspect that your step-family are plotting against your father.”

“What?”

“Grace, your stepmother,” Ed explains. “She and her children have been using your father’s money to pay for their extravagant lifestyle, but I think they want more than that. I don’t know what they were like before I met them, but while I’ve been there they keep whispering among themselves. I don’t like it.”

“What is it you think they’re planning?”

“I sometimes wonder...the doctor said your father’s condition had gotten much worse since his last check up, which was apparently only a few months before I met him. The timing feels too coincidental.”

“I’m confused. Are you saying that they somehow made him have a heart attack?”

Ed sighs.”I don’t know. They seemed surprised by it, so I don’t think they were involved, but I can’t help but wonder.” When he looks up and sees the concern on Oswald’s face, he places his hand lightly against his cheek. “Don’t think too much on it while you’re here, I could always be wrong.”

“When are you ever wrong,” Oswald chuckles half-heartedly as he places his own hand over Ed’s.

“Well this time I hope I am,” Ed smiles. “I’ll keep looking into it, just focus on staying safe while your still here.”

“ _Staying safe._ I should be the one telling you that.”

“We’ve talked about this, I’ll be fine.”

“I know, but I can’t stop worrying. When my father was here, he told me to let go of the past and live in peace. It’s not too late to leave this all behind, we could still-”

He doesn’t get to finish before Ed cuts him off, leaning in and pulling Oswald into a soft kiss.

The first kiss is something everyone talks about, how special it is, one of the best memories a person can have. For Oswald, the memory of their first kiss isn’t anything like that. If anything, it’s something he wishes he could forget, feeling nothing but embarrassment at himself everytime he thinks back on it. He decides, there and then, that the second one is definitely better. It’s a real kiss, not a hasty one made out of desperation, and he gets the time to enjoy it this time.

When they pull back from one another, Ed asks him,“You know that I’d do anything for you, right?”

Oswald smiles at the familiar words. “Yeah, I do.”

“Good,” Ed says with a smile of his own. “That’s all I need.”

 

**.**

**.**

 

When Grace sees Nygma returning from Arkham that day, she immediately notices something is different. He seems calmer than he is most days, as if he’s off in a daze. When Elijah finds out that they were all planning on staying in that night, he insisted that they all have dinner together. Nygma is quick to take up the offer, happily heading into the kitchen to get started on their meal.

When she passes through the kitchen, he gives her a passing glance, but makes no other notice of her presence. Even when she stands there, watching him as he works, he pays her no mind, doesn’t even ask her if she needs anything. It could be that he’s just trying to annoy her by ignoring her, but it feels like something more is happening here. He’s too focused on the food in front of him, as if he’s hoping to dissuade her attention from what’s really happening.

She doesn’t like it, nothing good could come out of whatever is happening here.

“That man is up to something, I know it,” she tells her children when she knows they’re alone.

“What do you think it could be,” Sasha asks.

“I’m not sure, but we can’t risk having him or that lunatic speaking with Elijah for much longer.”

“What are we going to do about Penguin?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll think of something, but we can’t do much right now, not while that vermin is still running around our house. We need to get rid of him, and soon.”

“He said he was going to be looking for a new place to stay,” Charles says. “...but Elijah told him he can stay as long as he needs. How can we persuade him to go?”

At her son’s question, Grace raises a brow. “How do you get rid of rats,” she asks, pulling out the box of rat poison she’d taken when Nygma wasn’t looking. Sasha’s eyes glisten with devious glee.

Charles gives her an odd look. “Glue traps?”

 

**.**

**.**

 

That evening is the first time since his arrival that Ed’s sat down with the Van Dahl family. Most times, it’s just him and Elijah, but tonight he gets to set a full table for the family. Grace and Sasha pick through their meals tentatively, like they’re expecting him to have spit in it (as if he’d ever waste the perfection of a good meal on the likes of them). He takes pleasure in their dismay when Charles voices his approval, only rescinding it after a glare from his mother and sister.

Once they’ve finished with dinner, Elijah turns to him. “Edward, will you meet me in the living room. There’s something I wish to talk to you about.”

The two of them make their way over, standing near the fireplace. Not moments later, Grace follows in, bringing in a decanter of sherry wine that she leaves on the table.

“I thought you two would like something drink,” she says with that fake, sweetened voice of hers.

“Thank you so much, Grace,” Elijah says, and Ed gives her a small nod. She gives him a smug half-smirk, before leaving them to their conversation.

“I take it you won’t be having any,” Ed asks.

“No,” Elijah agrees. “My health wouldn’t allow it. My sickness has been quite the burden throughout the years, but I consider myself lucky. My father was never physically ill, he only suffered a deep melancholy. He was plagued by dark impulses, evil thoughts of violence. Mother said many in his family have the same affliction.”

His gaze looks out past Ed, eyes filling with sorrow, but also hints of horror.

“I remember the sound of the gunshot, I was outside his room. I screamed for my mother to get the key. I saw the warm gun in his hand, the blood...his face.” He turns away, as though shielding himself from his own memories. “Mother said never to talk about it. For years after the funeral we never left the house.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t pretend to understand my father’s torment, but I think perhaps Oswald does. He’s going to need someone to help him see it through.” He turns his attention back to Ed. “I want to know if you think that’s going to be you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I met with my lawyer earlier today,” Elijah explains. Ed’s surprised, Elijah hadn’t told anything about any of this until now. “I’ve finished the final draft of my will, one that will see that Oswald is taken care of once I’m gone. I want him to have it all, the house and all that’s in it.”

“You’re giving him everything?” Elijah nods. “What about Grace?”

“There’s a penthouse we own in the city that I’ve assigned into her care. She and the children already spend most of their time there, I think they’ll be happier than in this stuffy old place,” he chuckles. “Besides, I doubt she would honor my wishes in keeping the house as it is. This place holds my family’s history, I want to keep it that way. She doesn’t care for such things, but I know Oswald does.”

“That’s fantastic...But I do worry, if your health is declining as quickly as you say, what if Oswald isn’t released by then?”

“Yes, that’s why I wanted to talk to you,” he says. When they’d walked into the room, but now his demeanor has changed, cold and serious. He picks up the decanter, pouring the sherry into one of the glasses. “I’ll be assigning someone else as head of the estate until Oswald is released.”

“...And that someone...is me?”

Elijah shrugs. “You would be a good candidate. After all, you and my son are involved romantically.” There’s something off in his voice when he speaks, something that puts him on edge. Oswald had said his father was happy with their relationship, but his tone says otherwise.

“Are you objecting the notion?”

“...I’m not sure. He cares for you deeply, and I want to see him happy. Yet, I sense you will bring him a fair share of grief as well.”

He hands Ed the glass, giving him an odd look as he does. Ed doesn’t drink, the two men staring back at one another in silence.

“Where is it you go during the day,” Elijah finally asks.

“To my job, of course.”

“...As an accountant,” Elijah says with a lopsided smile. “Yes. Yes, that was was the first thing I realized you were lying to me about.”

Ed tries to protest, but Elijah speaks first.

“Don’t try to deny it, I have proof.”

“Is that so?”

“A few days ago, while I was visiting Oswald, he told me about your little incident while you were both at Arkham,” he says, pointing to his eye. “This whole time I’d heard only of your friendship with one another, I hadn’t realized that you had ever been violent around him. He insisted that he was to blame for it, and I left it there, but I started to wonder what else I didn’t know about you. So I hired someone to follow you to your work.”

Ed’s grasp on the glass tightens.

“When they returned, they informed me that you were seen nowhere near any accounting firm, but they noted that you were seen entering the estate of Gotham’s leading crime lord. I don’t know much about accounting but I doubt anyone in a reputable business would be working at a place like that.”

“This informant of your’s says they saw me enter the estate, but how would they know if I was working there,” Ed challenges. “Maybe I was just checking in with a client.”

“Perhaps, but that’s not the only thing I discovered. I haven’t been to the public library in years, but I decided I needed to learn more about your case. You told me that you and this woman were dating when you defended her from a jealous ex-boyfriend. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that not only was that not true, but that you had already been incarcerated for your crime at the time you claimed to have witnessed Jim Gordon murdering Theo Galavan. It can only mean that your testimony, one that I’ve staked my reputation as well as my own son’s life on, is undeniably false!”

Ed stills at Elijah raised voice. He’s always been so mild mannered, it’s quite an unnerving thing to see him truly angry. Annoyed and tired from his own outburst, Elijah sighs, taking a seat on the couch.

“I must ask you, Mr. Nygma, if that even is your real name,” he bites, massaging his temple,”...is there, by chance, anything that you haven’t lied to me about?”

Ed considers his options, but there isn’t much more he can do. There’s no denying it, he’s been caught. They might as well continue this honesty streak while their at it.

He chuckles, before taking his first sip of the sherry.

“I’ll admit it, I’ve stretched the truth here and there. I thought it would be more... _enticing_ , I suppose.”

Elijah’s eyes narrow at the quip. “My son is trying to move on from his trauma, I fear you have yet to move on from yours.”

“So is that’s what this is really about, is it? You want to see us separated, just like your dear old parents did with you?”

“What I want is for my son to be happy. If happiness is something that he finds in you, then I can’t stop to two of you from being together...But as his father, I won’t just sit by and let you continue to poison his mind with your own selfish ambitions.”

Elijah stands, placing a hand on Ed’s shoulder. His eyes have changed once again from anger into genuine concern.

“Edward please, let me take you back to Arkham. You need to be treated for whatever illness is making you do these awful things. I know that I can’t keep the two of you apart, but surely you can see that whatever you’re doing is hurting him. I can accept the two as a couple, but only if I know he’s safe.”

“ _You_ keeping him safe from _me_ ,” Ed laughs, shrugging the offending hand away. “That’s a bit hypocritical of you isn’t it? After all, your absence from his life has resulted in plenty of grief for him, as well as his poor mother. I’d say you’ve done a lot more harm than I ever could.”

“I don’t think I appreciate your tone.”

“Well that’s too bad. I don’t care if you hate every fiber of my being, because as awful as I may be, you’re far worse,” Ed growls. “You put on this act like you would love Oswald unconditionally, but you wouldn’t have been singing the same tune if you’d known him just a few months earlier. Everything you hate about me now, that’s who your son is under whatever concoction of medication Professor Strange has him under. You don’t care about who he really is, you only want the fake image of perfection you see now. Every time you talk about how much he’s improved, as if there was ever anything that needed improvement, it makes me _sick._ He doesn’t deserve someone like you, doting on him so you can pretend you aren’t the failure of a father we both know you are.”

Elijah’s face pinches in disgust and rage. “How dare you. You’ve played for a fool, and now you presume to know me so well. You scientific types are always so arrogant, thinking you know how the universe works.”

Ed chuckles. “Yes, I’ve noticed your faith modern science is practically nonexistent. That’s probably why it’s been so easy for your wife to let you die all these years.”

At those words, Elijah’s face slackens into confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

“Grace, she’s been switching out your medication. I know the sense of smell and taste diminishes with age, but it’s fairly hard to mistake mints for pills.” He pulls out a small tin, found inside one of Grace’s drawers. He opens it and takes out one the tablets. “You probably figured it was just the silly old doctor thinking he could cure you with chemicals. It never occurred to you that something wasn’t right.”

Elijah takes the mint and looks it over, eye wide with realization. Ed takes one for himself, letting it melt in his mouth.

“I took a few precautions myself, got rid of some old pills in the cupboards, switched the out rat poison with food pellets.” He swirls his glass and holds it up to the light, the powdery residue of the pellets clearly visible at the bottom.

Elijah is stunned silent as the truth hits him at full force. He falls back onto the couch, body limp with disbelief.

“I don’t understand,” he mutters,”...why would she do such a thing?”

Ed scoffs. “Uh hello, you’re the heir to a multi-million dollar fortune. It’s probably easier to let you go unmedicated than kill you off directly, brings a lot less questioning.” He pours what’s left of his glass into the fire place, the log sizzling in response. “Obviously she sees me and Oswald as another obstacle between her and her money. She must be getting desperate, rat poison kills too quickly, she’d be found out immediately.”

He turns back to Elijah, his gaze filled to the brim with dark thoughts.

“The trick to pulling off murder is to make it look like it would happen naturally. You need to take it slow, observe your victim closely, figure out what they could do that might result in them dying without anyone suspecting otherwise.“ He takes a step closer, and Elijah straightens himself in his seat, as if that alone could stop imminent threat facing him. “If a man such as yourself was found with a stomach full of rat poison, well that would just be suspicious...But if someone were to, say, mix an excessive dosage of heart medication into your dinner...” Ed’s lips stretch into something sinister. “...Well that’s a bit different, isn’t it?”

Elijah’s jaw slacks open as he pieces together Ed's words.

“The first time I tried it, I thought four pills would be enough, given how severe your condition is,” Ed explains.”...But you made it through alright. Maybe ten will do the trick this time.”

“How could you, after everything-” Elijah doesn’t get a chance to finish as his throat catches on the words as his body trembles. His muscles begin to spasm and cramp as he groans. There’s nothing more he can do as his strength leaves his body. He falls back onto the couch, gasping in pain as his hand clenches into his chest.

The room becomes quiet, save for the loud, paced breathing coming from Elijah. Ed steps closer leaning over him as he watches Elijah slip away to this unwinnable battle.

“You’ve been so stressed these days, and everyone knows your opinion of doctors,” Ed says, voice filled with fake pity. “You couldn’t have realized what taking so medication at once would have done. People make mistakes with their medication all the time. No one would ever know. As for Oswald, don’t worry, I’ll be in charge of his finances while he’s in Arkham,” he says, pulling out a set of papers hidden beneath his jacket. “You already signed off on it, remember?”

Elijah’s eyes widen when he sees the documents, the pages familiar from when Ed handed them to him just a few weeks earlier. The words he’d carelessly glanced over now stand out to him. He’d handed everything over to Ed, betrayed by his own signature.

Ed pockets the documents again as Elijah watches him in silent rage.

“You probably hate me right now, but you just don’t understand how important this is. In time, when your floating around in your little _spirit world_ ,” Ed mocks,”...maybe then you’ll realize just how much I’ve done for you. With you gone, Oswald won’t be distracted by these synthetic desires Strange has implanted in him. He’ll be free to follow the path he was meant to walk, and there he will find his glory. You’re life sacrificed for his happiness, and isn’t that all you’ve ever wanted for him?”

Elijah’s eyes continue to stare at him, but there is little life left in them. His chest has already stilled as the last of his breathes leave his body. In his final moments, Ed leans over, whispering into his ear.

“Then again, maybe it isn’t,” he hisses. “Love is about sacrifice. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

When he pulls back, Elijah is gone, his eyes dead and distant. He gently presses his fingers against his throat, just to make sure. When he finds no pulse, he knows he’s finished.

He releases a sigh as he reaches over to his emptied glass. He takes a few moments to admire his work before deciding it's time to move on. He lets the glass slip from his hands, letting it crash against the floor. He contorts his face in horror before he screams.

“Help!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case any of you were wondering when that role reversal tag was really going to kick in…
> 
> Oh hey, we’ve reached the halfway point for Part 2 (...and the story in general!)
> 
> Thanks to everyone who’s read, commented and kudosed so far! You’re the best <3


	18. -

 

 

“We were only talking for a few minutes before he collapsed. I knew he wasn’t supposed to drink, but he insisted. He seemed to be in better health than most days I’d seen him, I didn’t think allowing him a few sips would be so devastating. We called for an ambulance as soon as we could, but…they said there wasn’t anything they could do.”

Ed’s still talking, but Oswald isn’t hearing any of it. Blood thrums through his ears with each heavy beat of his heart. The pause between each pulse grows, and he wonders for a moment if it might suddenly stop. It would be a pleasant reprieve at a time like this, but even then it would do him no good. His father is in another place now, with his mother no doubt, a place where he knows he will never be able to join them. They’d had their few short days of bliss, but that was now gone forever.

“Oswald?”

When he’d first seen Ed that morning, eyes puffy and red as he walked into the visitor’s center, a small part of him knew exactly what had happened. He hadn’t want to believe it, still couldn’t believe it now that the truth. In the time he’d known Ed, he’d never seen him so distraught. To see him in such a state, it didn’t feel natural. It couldn’t be real, and yet he they were.

“That’s not fair,” he murmurs. “I did everything I was supposed to. I was good.”

 _Never good enough_ ! _Alone and unloved_ ! _It’s what you deserve_!

His eyes sting as the familiar voice echoes through his head. So long had it been since he’d heard that voice, he’d thought it would be gone forever. In the weeks that passed, he’d deluded himself into thinking he was making some kind of progress. It wasn’t real, none of it ever was.

He pulls the hem of the shirt over his face, whimpering into the cloth. Ed reaches over to run his fingers softly through his hair.

“There wasn’t anything you could have done. If anything, you made his last days the happiest he’s had.”

 _So much time wasted on you_!

“They could have been happier. If I wasn’t stuck in this place, if I wasn’t some lunatic...”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that, you’re not a lunatic. We’re going to get you out of here, okay? Your father may not be there to see it, but the lawsuit against Gordon is still going forward. Everyone will see him for the man he really is, and they’ll lock him away for a long time.”

His breath stops at the mention of Jim. His father had mentioned taking legal action once or twice, but he never thought much on it. If he were to be brought to a courtroom, testify in front of Jim…He couldn’t bring himself to do it, not after everything else he’s done, and then everyone would know the truth.

 _He’ll hate you when he finds out_ ! _He’ll leave you too_ ! _Just like everyone else_!

“It doesn’t matter what Jim Gordon did,” he mumbles. “I’ve never amounted to anything my life other than an evil, murderous freak. I don’t need to be released. I deserve to be here.”

The comforting hand running over his head pulls his face up.

“Oswald, look at me,” Ed says. His gaze is hardened, eyes determined.  “All your father ever wanted was to see justice for everything that’s happened to you. Stopping now would go against everything we’ve worked for. You can’t give up on yourself so easily.”

He knows that Ed means well, trying to distract from his own sorrow. He wants to have that strength he needs to see this through, but he’s too exhausted to fight against the overwhelming sense of surrender.

 _Another disappointment from you_ ! _What else would I expect_!

Then he feels something bubbling from beneath the misery, something low and brimming that frightens him. It’s too much for him to handle, he needs to get away from everything, where Ed isn’t there to see him so weak.

He pulls Ed’s hand away from him. “If you don’t mind, I want to be alone for a little bit.”

Ed stares at him for a moment, but doesn’t protest. “I understand,” he says with a sad smile. He gives Oswald a soft kiss against his forehead, before leaving him alone in the room.

It isn’t until a few minutes later, when the guard comes for him, that he finally lets himself go.

 

 

 

“I am so terribly sorry for your loss.”

Cobblepot’s breath hitches as he brings another tissue to his eyes. Once Strange had heard of Van Dahl’s death, he’d immediately brought him in for an emergency session. He’d protested at first, but Strange insisted that they talk. They hadn’t yet started working on handling his emotions in the face of trauma, there was no telling how it would impact his treatment at such an early stage.

Strange hands him his cup of tea, a mix he’s put together that should help keep him calm. He sniffles as he takes a small sip.

“The death of a parent is one of the toughest hardships to endure,” he says, taking his seat behind the desk. “I can only imagine how it feels to lose two in such a short span of time”

“I just wish I’d known him longer. I wish I could have shown him that I was more than a petty criminal.”

“If I may, I think you’ve more than proven that you have what it takes to be a model citizen. I think your father would be proud with how much you’ve changed.”

“You really think so,” he asks.

“I know so. You’ve come so far, Oswald. If you continue this path you’ve made, greater things will come your way.”

He means what he says. In only a few weeks since he’d put Cobblepot on this treatment, he’d been witness to a drastic change in temperment. He may be reeling from loss, but that didn’t have to be a bad thing. They were so close to the end, all they needed was one push, one last piece of inspiration to see them to the finish line.

Instead, Cobblepot’s face pinches in rage, his hands clasping tightly around the tissues.

“You said that doing all of this would save me, that I wouldn’t bring myself anymore pain. Why should I believe you now?”

“It is hard, with everything that’s happened, to see the progress you’ve made. When time has passed, you’ll see that’s it’s all been for the better.”

“You think that _this_ is better,” he giggles. Beneath the laughter, Strange can see his body tensing. “You think it’s better that I’m here, alone, trapped in the godforsaken hellhole?”

“Oswald-”

He barely dodges the cup that flies towards his head, crashing against the wall behind him. When he steadies himself and turns back around, Oswald is standing over the desk, staring him down. Both of his eyes are a deep red, the veins pulsing with dark rage.

“Y’know something, Strange? I think you want me to suffer. That’s all this is, isn’t it? You just want to see how long it takes before I go insane?”

Strange clicks the button beneath his desk signalling for the guards, but not before Cobblepot grabs his own chair and throws it against the wall. It’s not enough to quell his anger, apparently, because begins moving on the the shelves, knocking whatever he can and kicking through the mess.

“Is this better, Strange?! Is everything better now?!”

Strange continues clicking the button vigorously until a pair of guards run into the room and over to Cobblepot. They try their hardest to pin him down and administer a sedative, but it does little to help. Despite the shot, Cobblepot manages to push the guards off of him, grabbing hold and knocking them against the floor in a mad flurry. He turns his attentions back to Strange, but before he has time to rush him, another set of guards grab him and pull him away.

Five guards and three needles later, Cobblepot finally falls limp against the floor. As the guards remove him from the office, Strange takes a moment to look around at the wreckage.

“Having trouble?”

He shoots Peabody a glare as she watches from the entrance.

“It appears the death of his father has compromised his treatment. He’s receded back into a state of violent anger. Combined with the virus, it’s worse than before.”

“Can you reverse the effect?”

“It’s possible, but it would take months for him to get that progress back. We’d have to reduce his anger just to make him manageable, then rework his cognitive processing. It’s starting from square one. No, it’s worse than square one. It’s next to nothing.”

So much progress lost in a matter of minutes. He should have known allowing Oswald to attach himself with someone so compromised would become a problem.

_Nygma, that little bastard._

He was the one that brought that man to this place. He’d ruined everything. Had he the secrets to reversing time, he’d gone back to their first meeting and send Nygma down to the basement where he belonged.

“I hope you’ve at least started developing an antidote.”

“I have, but it won’t be ready for a few more weeks.” He takes a seat at his desk and massages his temple. The Court wouldn’t be happy with him when they learned of this.

He was already having enough problems with Detective Gordon and Bruce Wayne snooping around. Over the last week, the two of them had managed to find Karen Jennings, someone he himself had been searching for with no success. He’d managed to send Fries to the scene and snuff her out, but not before she’d had time to tell them about Pinewood. So far, neither of them had any concrete evidence to connect himself to Wayne’s murder, but they were a relentless pair. He would have to figure out what to do about them, before their search brought them too close to the truth.

He sighs. There’s no time for him to continue any more of his side projects, not with Wayne, Gordon and the Court all breathing down his neck.

“Let’s keep Cobblepot sedated until the antidote is ready. I’ll determine our best plan of action after that.”

“Does this mean you’re cancelling the procedure for Miss Kean?”

“The Tetch project will be put on hold until further notice,” he concedes. “...And Miss Kean will be scheduled for her release.”

Peabody raises a brow. “If you keep releasing inmates so liberally, you’re going to get a bad reputation.”

“I don’t care about my reputation,” he snaps. “Bruce Wayne has already discovered a dangerous amount of information about Wayne Industries. If he and Gordon continue working together, I don’t know what the court will have me do next. I need time, and if that’s something Barbara Kean can give me, I’ll take it.” 

If she has anything more to say, she doesn’t get the time to voice it as a buzzer sounds off above them. He turns around, staring in disbelief as the red light flashes.

“It’s coming from downstairs,” Peabody says.

Strange turns back to her. “Patient 44...But the reanimation process should take another twelve hours.”

They rush out of the office, making their way down to the lab. As they approach the reanimation room, Strange hears the sound of banging against the walls.

There’s someone in there. Someone very angry.

When they enter the observance room, they find the source of the noise. A group of guards lay unconscious around the the floor, some of them likely dead based on their wounds. In the center of the mess is Patient 44, looking very confused and very much alive.

Perhaps his luck was taking a turn for the better.

“Oh Peabody, we did it,” Strange says with a smile that Peabody returns. “We brought someone back.”

 

**.**

**.**

 

Ed was walking along cloud nine as he headed towards Gilzean’s mansion. There’s nothing like the feeling of everything progressing exactly as you’d hoped. Even the city seemed in a good mood as the light breeze pushed the overcast away for but a moment, shining warm light upon the streets below.

He wasn’t even offended when Oswald had asked him to leave. The man was in mourning, it’s only natural that he’d want some time to process his emotions, and Ed could be patient when need be. Once he was past the initial shock of it all, Oswald come back to him in a heartbeat, just like Kristen had when Dougherty left her. Maybe, if he was lucky, Oswald might eventually forget his father all together. They’d only seen each other for a grand total of twelve hours, after all. Why waste pain on something so insignificant?

The funeral had been a short affair. There weren’t many people still alive that Elijah had befriended, just various distant relatives all waiting to learn what had been left for him in his will. The answer was very little, as Elijah had indeed signed most of his estate over to Oswald.

Grace and her children were devastated by the news. Having to sit through the droning of the priest was a pleasant price to pay when he had the pleasure of seeing their faces when he told them they would no longer be living at the mansion. Any objection they might have claimed was stifled by the belief that they’d unintentionally killed Elijah, leaving them to stare at him with pathetic disbelief. He wishes he’d brought a camera with him, but the memory will do for now.

The mood reaches its abrupt end as he reaches the mansion and is greeted by a rather irate mob boss.

“Where the hell have you been,” Gilzean demands, startling him as he walks through the door. He’s looking the most frazzled Ed has ever seen him.

“I was...Why did something happen?”

Gilzean drags him into the parlor. “You know that doc that runs the blood lab? The police arrested him a few days ago. Apparently the guy’s some kind of sadist, killed and mutilated three different people.”

 _Ah, so that’s what this is about._ It seems this day just keeps on giving.

“I would have never thought him the type. I’m sorry about the lab, I know it’s a lot of income-”

“I don’t care about the lab. It’s what he told the cops that’s pissing me off.”

Ed widens his eyes. “He talked?”

“Rat squeaked as soon as they got their hands on him. He told them all about the business, about me,” he says, taking a drink. “...But what’s worse, he gave them the location of my other stash houses.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve already had five places shut down by the cops. Do you know how much money that is?”

“I-”

“It’s a lot, that’s what it is! I’m losing big here, and apparently, words been getting around. People are saying that there’s someone out there that wants to take me out.” He paces the room as Ed stays silent, not wanting to set him off further. “How did he even know about the other locations?!”

Ed holds back a smile as he thinks back to his conversations with the doctor. If he’d mentioned the other locations to him once or twice, who could have known?

“I told you, you should have killed him off sooner,” he hears Tabitha sigh from the couch.

Gilzean rolls his eyes. “Should’ve, could’ve would’ve, I get it okay? I messed up. What are we going to do about it now?”

“I think I may know who’s responsible for all of this,” Ed says, stopping Gilzean in his tracks. “You asked me the reason I was so late coming to you this morning. It’s because I was approached by someone. They offered me a position working for their boss.”

Gilzean’s eyes widen, he takes a step forward. “When were you going to tell me this?”

“I came as soon as I was sure I wasn’t being followed. The man told me they’ve been working on this ever since Penguin was sent to Arkham and that half of the city is already working with them now. They’d been watching people from different gangs, and I was one of their candidates. They told me me if I refused, I’d be a dead man.”

“Well you’re still standing aren’t you? You here to tell me you’ve jumped ship?”

“No sir, I swear. I told him that I’d think it over, but that was only so I could get away from him.” Ed gives his best act, lip quivering in fear. ”Please sir, you have to protect me. They wanted me to be at their hideout out by now, they’ll know I’ve rejected them. I don’t know what they’ll do to me, I don’t want to die-”

“Alright, alright, calm down,” Gilzean sighs. “I’ll offer as much protection as I got but you gotta work with me here, right?” Ed nods. ”The guy that’s running this whole thing, did you get a name?”

“I did, and it’s one you’re very familiar with.”

“Who is it?”

“The man that approached me offered a position working for Victor Zsasz.”

There’s silence as Gilzean takes in the news, though it doesn’t last long as he then breaks into disbelieving laughter.

“Victor Zsasz? Are you goddamn kidding me?”

“I was just as shocked-”

“How stupid do you think I am? Be honest.”

Ed stills under Gilzean’s glare. “Sir?”

“You think I don’t know what’s been going on? That I didn’t notice you sneaking around all the time? I don’t know how you’re involved in all of this, but if you want to make it out with all your fingers, I suggest to start telling the truth and tell me who you’re really working for.”

“Please, sir, I really don’t know-”

“Don’t make this worse for yourself, kid,” he says, grabbing hard against Ed’s shoulder and pulling him in so they’re standing face to face. “You didn’t think I’d find it a little weird, some guy stalking my place just so he could ask me for a job?”

“Sir, I understand the circumstances are unusual, but I’m begging you to listen to me. Victor Zsasz-”

“-would never pull this kind of stunt. The guy doesn’t give a rat’s ass about who the boss is, everyone knows that. Of all the desperate sonbitches trying to make a name for themselves in this town, you expect me to believe-”

Before he can finish, the beeping of a cell phone draws his attention. His eyes go wide at the tone, one he’s set to a specific person.

The hand drops from Ed’s shoulder as his fishes his phone out of his pocket and flips it open.

“Zsasz?”

“ _Hey Butch_ ,“ Zsasz’s voice says over the line. “ _I noticed that lackey of yours never showed up. Such a shame, the man has talent. He say anything about me?_ ”

Gilzean is silent as he gives Ed a glance, face colored in disbelief.

“He mentioned a few things,” he replies, clicking the speaker on. “Maybe you could give me the rundown.”

“ _I’d say it’s pretty straight forward. You’ve had your shot at the big seat and wasted it. Everybody wants you out, and I’m happy to oblige their wishes._ ”

“You really think you got what it takes to be the boss? All you know how to do is take orders.“

“ _I learned enough from Falcone. Who knows, it might be fun. Whatever happens, I’d sure do better job of it than you ever could._ ”

“Is that right,” Gilzean asks, mouth turning up into a grin. “Maybe I’ll call up Tommy Bones, have a little chat. I've got trash I need taken care of.”

“ _Oh yeah, that reminds me, could you hold on a sec?_ ” There’s a short silence, followed by a bang and the thud of someone falling to the ground. Gilzean’s grasp on the phone tightens. “ _Did you hear that?_ ”

“Yeah, I heard that,” Gilzean sighs. “Was that Tommy Bones?”

“ _Hell yeah it was,”_ Zsasz laughs.

“Alright then, I see how it is. We’ll do this the old fashioned way, my guys versus your guys, whenever, wherever we get the chance.”

“ _Sounds lovely. I’ll look forward to it._ ”

The line cuts off, Gilzean closes his phone. He takes a seat, face blank as he process everything that’s happened. After a moment, he glances up at Ed.

“Why don’t you call up the guys, tell them we’ve got a meeting coming up.”

“Of course, sir,” Ed says before turning away and walking out of the room. It isn’t until he’s out of sight that he allows himself to smile in satisfaction.

Yes, today is definitely a good day indeed.

 

 

 

“Come, my dear. Your future awaits.”

Barbara casts a dubious glance at the cab as it pulls in through the front gates.

“You're sure,” she asks him, the fifth time she’s done so since he informed her of her release.

“I run a hospital, not a prison,” Strange says, guiding her to the car. “You're sane. It would be unethical and illegal to keep you confined.”

“What if I-”

“Hush, now. Life is full of uncertainty. If something does happen, we're always here.” He gives her a light push of encouragement. “Off you go.”

She gives him one last look of uncertainty before she finally takes her seat at the back of the cab. Strange and Peabody watch on as the car drives off into the tree and towards the city.

“You know what she’s going to do, don’t you,” Peabody inquires.

“I don’t, actually...But I know that whatever it is, Detective Gordon is going to have a lot on his plate to chew on.”

“You think it will be enough to distract him?”

“Perhaps, but we won’t take any chances. Let’s let our have our new patient have a night on the town.”

“I doubt our financiers will be pleased with that decision.”

Strange scoffs. “I’ve just given life back to the dead, they owe me my fun.”

 

**.**

**.**

 

“How are we doing?”

“ _Gabe’s been talking to some of our associates. They say they’ll stand against Butch as long as they get the turf that Penguin promised them._ ”

“I can agree to those terms. Tell them we’ll be meeting soon. Butch is having me call up some of his men, so I’ll have full knowledge of their whereabouts in the coming days. We’ll make them an offer to join us, if they refuse, we’ll need them removed immediately.”

“ _Sounds like Butch is getting real nervous. He really bought it, huh?_ ”

“Yes indeed, fantastic job.” He’ll admit, Zsasz played his part well. He’d had a few doubts when he’d given the script to him, partially on account of the fact he wasn’t sure if the man could even read, but it’d gone off perfectly.

“We’ll need to keep minimal contact until we’ve got him at his weakest. Keep talking with the other bosses for now, I’ll contact you again when I have news.”

“ _Will do, chief._ ”

Ed snaps his phone shut, heading back into the parlor. The amount of progress one could make with a little cash was astounding. He’d transferred over the payment to Zsasz as soon as he had access to the Van Dahl account. There hadn’t been any time to consult Oswald on the matter, but Ed knew he wasn’t in the right mind to make these decisions. Besides, it wasn’t anything that wouldn’t be replaced in time. He’d understand later.

“Did you get a hold of Sonny,” Gilzean asks.

“Yes, he knows about the plan. I’ve called together every person that’s still working for us. They’ll come to the meeting and see what they can do.”

“How many do we got?” Ed gives him a look which he receives with a lopsided smile. “That many, huh?”

“We may be outnumbered, but it’s enough to keep them at bay so we can figure out what to do.”

“Let’s hope it’s enough to get us out of this alive. At least we know one Tabitha is probably worth one-hundred of them.”

“Are you kidding. Don’t involve me in this. You guys are doomed,” Tabitha says from her place on the couch, eyes glued to the screen. Apparently she’s taken the news of a potential mass mutiny and responded with giving up and moving on.

 _Smart choice_ , Ed thinks to himself.

“C’mon Tabby, work with me here.”

“It’s not my problem if you can’t hold your own.”

Gilzean walks over to the couch, kneeling beside her with pleading eyes. “Can’t we keep what we have going a little longer. I thought we made a good team.”

“I gave you my advice and you ignored it. Doesn’t sound like teamwork to me.”

“Maybe I let this whole thing get into my head, but if anything good came out of this, it’s that I’ll know never to doubt you again. C’mon baby, let’s give it another go.“

Tabitha doesn’t look at him. “Sucks to suck, babe.”

As Gilzean mopes, something flashing on the television screen draws Ed’s attention.

It's just news footage of a man reeking havoc around the city, as if that's unusual, but there's something wrong with the image. It is not the face itself that is odd, but the person the face belongs to. It’s the face of a dead man, or rather, a man that _used_ to be dead.

Tabitha’s noticed it too. How couldn’t she. It’s a face that she herself would be very familiar with. She slowly straightens herself up, staring ahead as the screen is plastered with the image of Gotham’s former mayor.

“Theo…”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I realized my layout for future chapters wasn’t working, so I had to rearrange a few things, and then there was a lot of irl things happening too.
> 
> I won’t have a lot of free time in the coming weeks, so I’m not sure how often I’ll be able to update, but I’ll do my best.


	19. -

 

 

Jim’s been staring at the ceiling from his bed for two hours now. He’d hoped that he might be able to sleep in for the first time in years, but it’s a luxury his body won’t allow him. It feels too wrong. Normally by this time, he’d be down at the station looking over reports. The only thing sitting at his desk now is the letter of resignation he’d left there the day before.

A few months ago, he would have never thought it would come to this. He’d been cleared of his charges at his hearing, further embellished when Penguin confessed to the crime. He was in the clear, whether Barnes liked it or not, and him and Lee were free to go about their lives in peace.

Then there’d been the lawsuit, instigated by one Elijah Van Dahl, a man claiming to be Penguin’s long lost father. He claimed to have proof of Jim’s involvement in Galavan’s murder, a secret witness that had seen the whole thing. Although he couldn’t have Jim removed from the force without proper evidence, Barnes had done everything he could to make his life hell after new of the suit had come to light. Any evidence he found would be passed over to another cop, and every request made to further investigate a lead was denied.

He’d almost reached the end of his rope when Galavan had reemerged, alive and raving about the city, fully clad in armor and speaking in tongues. Probably one of the odder things he’d seen the last month, though that wasn’t saying much. After finding a clawed woman hiding out in the middle of a forest and being chased down by frozen man, he can’t say a man coming back from the dead is all too surprising, can he?

Galavan had disappeared almost as quickly as he’d arrived, just as Fries had. With no notable locations that fit as a suitable hideaway, it seemed unusual that they could slip so far under the radar. It was like they were being kept somewhere, a place like the facility Karen Jennings had mentioned. It had to be connected to Pinewood, the timing was too convenient to ignore, but how could he prove that? The whole ordeal had left him brimming with questions he needed answered.

Yet it also left him with some hope. After all, if Galavan was alive, then Jim could no longer be credited with his murder.

Van Dahl had left it in his will that the legal team pursue the case in his absence, a token of his dedication. Even in death, the man’s dedication was admirable, albeit incredibly irritating. Despite the unfortunate circumstances, Jim wishes he could have met him in person, if only to understand what the hell the whole lawsuit was really about. Yet when Galavan’s face resurfaced in the news, all charges laid against him had been dropped, just like that.

Surely, if something so serious to this family could be dismissed by this news, then the same could be said for others.

Surely then Barnes’s suspicion of him would be placated as well.

As it turned out, that was very much not the case.

Once Galavan was gone, Barnes had called Jim to office, asking him to tell him everything he’d found over the last few weeks. He’d foolishly taken it as a sign of cooperation, but once he’d said his piece, it was clear that Barnes didn’t intend for him to have any part in the investigation. Barnes suggested sending him on a paid leave, to recover from the last few weeks of stress. What a joke, as if they’d given him any real work over the last month.

When he’d left that office, looking around and seeing all of those people watching him with pity, it was like he was living in another world. It was as if he’d woken to another reality, one with masks of the people he knew hiding the faces of the strangers that wore them. He knew that there were many people that had wanted him to fail, but he’d never seen any proof of it happening until now. He could see them all now- Loeb, Flask, all of them smirking with satisfaction at the news of his fall from grace.

The only thing he has to quell the shame is his resolve to end things once and for all. Maybe he didn’t have the same resources he had at the station, but plenty of P.I.’s that had their ways...And without Barnes breathing down his neck, he wouldn’t have any other obligations.

In the end, he knows it’s the right decision. Only now could he really finally solve the mystery behind the Wayne murders, finally move on from this mess.

Maybe he could even stand to face Lee again.

It had to be done.

A knock at his door shakes him out of his sulking. He guesses it might be Harvey trying to talk some sense into him. He sighs, pushing himself out of bed and walks to front of his apartment. When he answers the door, it isn’t his partner standing there. The hair on the back of his neck stands straight as he finds Barbara instead, a nervous smile on her lips.

“Hi Jim.”

 

**.**

**.**

 

Ed checks his watch again. He’s been sitting outside Strange’s office for a good twenty minutes now and his patience only ebbs further and further with every second passing.

It’d taken him awhile to find a good time to slip away from Butch. The man had gone into a wild frenzy over the last week, and Ed couldn’t rightly blame him. Any chance he’d had at bringing Tabitha along had disappeared once Theo Galavan graced the screen. As soon as she’d seen her brother’s face, Tabitha had grabbed her gear and left, not bothering to mention where she might be headed. Who knew where she would go now, or if she’d ever come back once she was finished. Without her by his side, and his list of allies dwindling with every bullet Zsasz fired, their weren’t many options he had left.

Everything was lining in perfect tandem, and all he needs now is Oswald out of Arkham. With Galavan alive, there was no reason for him staying there any longer. Without much luggage, they’d probably leave together by the end of the day, never needing to return to the wretched place ever again. By the end of the week, Butch would be gone and Oswald would be back on top...And Ed would be right there to see it all happen.

It also meant that there was no reason to waste his time pursuing Jim now that Oswald’s release was a sure thing, and Ed would need all of focus on that. As soon as their former mayor’s identity was confirmed, he’d called the Van Dahl’s attorney and had him drop the charges made against him. He would still need to pay for what he’d done, but there was always time for that later.

Right now, on the other hand, it feels as if he has no time to spare as yet another minute passes him by and there’s still no sign of-

“Ah, Mr. Nygma. I wasn’t expecting you.”

Ed stands as Strange approaches him. “I made an appointment to speak with you...twenty minutes ago.”

“Is that so.” Strange gives him a tight smile. “You’ll have to forgive my tardiness, but my more intriguing patients will always be priority for me.”

Ed bites his tongue as Strange guides him into his office. Strange takes his usual seat, motioning Ed to do the same. “Why don’t you have a seat and we’ll get started.”

“I don’t think this will take long,” Ed replies, eyeing the chair. The last time he’d sat there hadn’t been the most pleasant experience.

“If you insist. What can I do for you?”

“I’m here to collect Oswald Cobblepot. I’m sure you’ve heard the news regarding our newly resurrected ex-mayor.”

“I have indeed. Strange business seeing the dead walking alongside the living.”

“Yes... _Strange_ business,” Ed says with narrowed eyes. “If Galavan hasn’t been murdered, then Oswald cannot be charged for his murder. Therefore, his sentence has been nullified.”

“Yes, I do wish it were that simple,” Strange sighs. “Unfortunately, I cannot have Mr. Cobblepot released.”

Ed furrows a brow. “I beg your pardon?”

“Under normal circumstances, Mr. Cobblepot would be eligible for release, but he has demonstrated multiple behavioral problems that have reestablished his need for therapy. Sadly, he has refused to cooperate with his treatment protocol and will need more time before he can be considered for release.”

“You’re lying.”

Strange sits back into his seat, arms crossed. “That’s a rather bold claim, Mr. Nygma.”

“I have it in writing.” Ed pulls out a folder he’d been carrying with him and takes out one of the weekly reports written by Strange, requested by Elijah as a way to monitor his son’s progress. “You said, right here, that you were seeing major improvements-”

“That’s true, he _was_ demonstrating improvement, however he’s recently experienced a great amount of trauma from his father’s passing and that has interfered with his emotional status. His behavior as of late has deemed him a danger to himself and others, making him an unsuitable candidate for release at this time.”

Ed stills, trying to think of anything more he could do to argue his way out of this, but there’s nothing coming to mind. If Oswald wasn’t out of Arkham soon, he wouldn’t be able to fulfill any of the promises Ed made for him. The other bosses would start getting antsy, who knows how quickly they’d turn on them. They’d need to figure something out fast, or risk losing everything.

Ed straightens himself. “I’d like to speak with him.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Cobblepot isn’t fit to receive any visitors at the moment. I could give you a ring when he’s in better condition, but for now you’ll have to wait.”

At a normal institution, one may think it fair advice for a doctor to give for a grieving patient, but Arkham is anything but a normal institution. Ed sees the slight quirk in Strange’s lips, the malice in his gaze, barely hidden behind red glass. Something is very wrong.

He leans over the desk to stare Strange in the eye. “What did you do to him?”

Strange shrugs. “Nothing worth mentioning. He had a rather aggressive episode and is being held under sedation until further notice. Although, now that you’ve asked, I may have an alternative treatment method that I’ve been interested in testing.”

Ed bristles at the idea of Oswald sitting in some dirty cell, waiting to be cut open and mutilated for Strange’s enjoyment.

“Oswald is not one of those lowely crooks you can just do with as you please. You have no right-”

“ _You_ have no authority in this,” Strange hisses, standing to meet Ed’s gaze. “You are neither his kin nor a judge. All rights to Mr. Cobblepot’s well being fall on me by default, and his treatment is to be determined as I see fit. As the head of this facility, I am telling you that he will not be released, and there is nothing you can do that will change that. I warned you what would happen if you interfered with Mr. Cobblepot’s recovery, and now you’re facing the consequences. Now I suggest you vacate the premises before I call for the guards and have you reinstitutionalized.”

Ed glares him down, but he knows there’s nothing he can do. Strange’s finger is already inching its way over to the security button. If he tries anything now, the guards will find him, and they’ll have him locked up again. He can’t take that risk now that everything is just out of his reach.

He gathers up the files and storms out of the office, barely hearing the send off Strange gives him. His head spins as he tries to determine his next move. As he walks through the halls, he considers finding Oswald’s cell and breaking the lock, but thinks better of it. If they weren’t caught immediately, Strange would certainly send GCPD after them, and then everything would be ruined. Besides, if it’s as bad as he thinks it is, they’ll have him locked away somewhere down in the basement and there’s no way to get down there undetected.

He takes a deep breath and tries not to think of such things. It does him no good to assume the worst.

He has no other choice now than to leave now and think of a new plan. Fate has helped him up to now, he just needs a little more guidance to see this thing through.

 

**.**

**.**

 

By the time Ed returns to Gilzean’s hideout, much of that fury has been funneled into determination.

There weren’t any other options now than for him to have Oswald broken out, and for that he’d need a lot of manpower. At the moment, the other bosses were counting on Oswald’s release to see their efforts paid off. If Ed could convince them to aid him in breaking him out, then they would be in the clear, but if they refused, he’d have nothing.

What he needed was a separate team, people that hadn’t been in contact with the others, people he hadn’t already made promises to. There weren’t many left, and at this point, it was likely that they were all working under Gilzean.

The most he could do now was focus on removing Gilzean from the picture. If he played his cards right, he could convince the others to take siege on Arkham and see Oswald freed. It was his best bet at winning this. He had to make it work.

As he walks through the house, he finds that there’s a handful of underbosses sitting at the various seats around the table. Gilzean had asked him the day before to call everyone that was willing to meet at the mansion. None of the people that showed up are anyone worth mentioning. Most of the prominent figures have either agreed to his terms or met their end at barrel of Zsasz’s gun.

He finds Gilzean standing in the parlor, drink in his good hand and staring off in thought.

“Are we about ready to start,” Ed asks.

“I guess,” he sighs, taking a sip. “I don’t know what good it’ll do us.”

“Are there any others showing up? I didn’t see Sonny.”

Gilzean shakes his head. “I sent the kid back to his mom out west. He doesn’t need to die over this.”

That’s a bit disappointing. Ed had thought maybe they could use him as a hostage, but sending someone to fetch him wasn’t worth the effort.

“Well, I’ll admit the stakes are not laid out in our favor, but battles have been won in worse conditions.”

Gilzean gives him a dubious glance. “Really?”

“...No, but nothing says we can’t be the first to pull it off.”

That earns him a small chuckle, but the smile on Gilzean’s lips disappears instantly.

“What’ll happen if we win? How many other people are out there waiting to see me fall?”

Ed cocks his head. In the short time he’s known the man, he’s never heard him sound so defeated. It’s heavenly, to say the least, just the kind of thing he’s needed today.

Before he can say anything, the beeping of Gilzean’s phone interrupts the silence. He places his drink down on the bar and pulls the phone from his pocket.

“What now,” he sighs into the receiver. As he listens to the voice over the phone, his eyes widen. A few, quiet moments pass before he shuts the phone, his face pale. It can’t have been anything Zsasz had done, Ed had given him express orders to wait for his signal on anything.

“What is it,” Ed asks.

“Tabby’s in the hospital.” Gilzean looks back to the group of people gathered in the other room. It takes him only a second to consider his options before he makes his choice. “I’ve gotta go.”

“What about the meeting?”

He doesn’t get an answer as Gilzean pushes past him and runs out of the door. Ed can only stare in disbelief as he hears the sound of Gilzean’s car starting up and driving away. He’d expected many things to come out of all of this, but this definitely wasn’t one of them.

He stands at the doorway, watching the others growing impatient. There was no chance in Hell Gilzean would be able to hold any of their favors after pulling a stunt like this.

He takes a moment to consider the people before him. A quick count of the room brings him to sixteen. It was small, not enough people to fight against the army Ed had amassed...But maybe just enough to cause a distraction.

Ed smiles. He’d been planning on having Zsasz kill them off once the meeting finished, but he supposes now that they may still serve him in other ways.

“Good evening folks,” he says, entering the room. “How’re we all doing?”

Not great it seems, as everyone turns their gazes on him with annoyance.

“What the hell’s goin’ on? Where’s Gilzean?”

“Unfortunately, ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Gilzean has decided to cut this meeting short.”

The news is met with groaning and dismay from the others.

“He left?! I’m risking my goddamned life for the guy and he just walks out?”

“Yes, I suppose it must be disappointing,” Ed says over the noise. “I must ask, are any of you doing this because you _like_ Gilzean?” By the look on everyone’s face, the answer is an obvious no. “I guess not. Business is business, I suppose. So what is it you want from this? Money, land? I can tell you right now that he’s not the only person you could go to for that.”

Most of his audience is talking angrily among themselves, but there’s a few people that watch him as he takes the seat at the end of the table.

“While it is unwise to break me, you’d do well to cut or strike me. What am I?”

“Hey buddy,” one of the bosses interrupts. “What the hell’re you going on about?”

“Yeah. What’re we doin’ sittin’ around, waiting for Victor Zsasz show up and kill us, listenin’ to this guy run his mouth,” another says. “I mean, who even is this schmuck?”

Ed’s used to being talked down to, and normally he would just let little qips like that slide, but today is a special one, and he’s sick of having people thinking they’re better than him. Something deep inside him cracks, his darker side seeping out and setting his blood ablaze.

“This schmuck is the man that decides whether Victor Zsasz kills you or not, so you’d do well to listen to what I have to say.”

He’s startled by the sound of his own voice, deeper, more intimidating than he’s ever heard himself speak. It’s a voice he knows, of course, but not one he’s ever used himself. Looking around the room, Ed sees a mix of annoyance and confusion. It’s not the apprehensive awe he would have hoped to see, but it matters little, because everyone has their eyes glued on _him_ now.

The boss sitting closest to him scoffs. “So you’re the guy that’s been sending Zsasz out on our people.” He looks Ed over with a tinge of amusement in his otherwise annoyed smirk. “I’ll tell ya, I was thinkin’ there had to be someone givin’ Zsasz orders, but I wasn’t expecting this.”

“You’re not the first person to underestimate me and you certainly won’t be the last. Red Fox, Midnight, Jack Rossi, they didn’t know what was coming to them...But they figured it out quickly, I assure you.”

A quiet understanding passes over the room. The murders had never made headlines in Gotham’s press, it was just another killing after all, but everyone living in Gotham’s underbelly had heard about it. There’s a shift in the way everyone looks at him, irritation replaced by curiosity.

That is save for one man standing towards the back. His eyes are brimming with anger as he steps closer and closer to him. “I knew that rat didn’t have what it takes to kill those people.

Ed raises a brow. “It seems you’re not impressed with my work. What was it, did the riddles go right over your head? I’m not surprised.”

“You dismembered them, you used their blood to write on the walls. That’s sick, man.”

“It’s art,” Ed corrects. “They should be thankful their death had some meaning to them.”

“You’d better watch your words, freak,” the man snarls. “Jack Rossi was a friend of mine.”

Ed blinks. “So?”

The man stares at him for a moment before his mouth pulls up into a smirk, his hand resting over the gun at his hip. “You’re right, it wouldn’t matter if I’d never met any of ‘em. Shooting you would be a public service for that nasty shit you pulled.”

“I have a selection of my men stationed nearby whose only purpose is to kill all of you without any hesitation. If Zsasz doesn’t get a phone call from me at the appointed time, he has instruction to send them over and eliminate everyone in this house.”

“You think I’d be here if I cared about Victor Zsasz? I reckon I’d sleep better in the afterlife knowing i took you down with me.”

“Perhaps, but can you say the same goes for them,” Ed asks addressing the rest of the room.

The man looks around at his companions, seeking whatever support he can find. Instead he’s met with warning gazes, telling him he’s on his own, just as Ed knew they would. As if he’d expect anything different from these scumbags.

The man deflates as he realizes the truth in his situation. There’s an older man sitting in the chair next to him that tries to pull him down, telling him he needs to stop now before it’s too late. It isn’t long before the man relents, sulking into his seat alongside the others.

With that taken care of, the others begin to relax. One of the men turns to him. “Okay then, enlighten us, Mr. Riddle guy. What d’ya want from us?“

Ed leans back in the chair with satisfaction, taking in the sight before him as the others watch him in anticipation.

“I have a deal for you all.”

 

 

 

“ _So we’re_ not _killing them_ _?_ ”

“I’ve found better uses for them,” Ed says, walking as quickly as he can to Zsasz’s hideout.

“ _Aww. Here I was getting all my toys ready. You’re really bumming me out, chief._ ”

“Don’t worry, I’m not done with you just yet. I’m just a few minutes away. When I get there we need to talk about-”

“Ed!”

He turns to source of the sound, finding Jim jogging over to him from the other side of the street. Ed sighs. On any other day, he’d be itching to hear of any news from the GCPD, but there’s too much on his plate already. If Jim wants to talk, this could take a while.

“On second thought, it looks like there’s something else I need to do first. Keep the others busy for now, I’ll call you when I’m on my way over.” He ends the call, pocketing his phone as Jim stops next to him. “Hello again, detective. It seems we’re running into each quite a lot lately.”

“What’re you doing out so late? Another night shift?”

Ed shrugs. “Meetings y’know, it’s like they never end. You’re looking a bit tired there yourself.”

Jim nods in agreement. “I’ve had a long...really odd day.”

He doesn’t elaborate. If he’s lucky, it means he’s too tired to stay and chat.

“I hope whatever you were doing pays off in the end.”

“I think it did. Actually, I’m glad I’ve caught you. I’ve gotten some information that I wanted your opinion on.”

Not that lucky. “Well, as always detective, I’m flattered that you value my input...But isn’t this something that you should be asking the men at the station?”

The answer he gets in return shocks him.

“Screw them.”

Ed has to keep himself from gaping as he realizes what Jim’s just said. There were many times that Jim’s patience the Gotham’s police officers had grown thin, but he’d never heard him be so dismissive of them. Even now, there’s very little force behind his words, and he looks pained as they fall from his mouth.

He realizes then that something big must have happened. His heart races I he thinks of the number of possibilities, all of them good.

“I won’t push you if you’re that busy, but you’re the best I’ve got right now.”

He should say no, there’s too many things he needs to do while Butch is distracted… But the prospect of hearing about Jim’s troubles is too good to resist.

...And it isn’t like Gilzean has much of a chance, not anymore.

“Well then, I guess I don’t have much of a choice, do I? You want to go to that diner again?”

“I’ve got a place I’m staying at that’s not too far from here. We could talk there, if that’s alright with you.”

“Sounds fine. Lead the way Jim.”

He follows Jim as they down down the new direction.

“Thanks for doing all of this,” Jim says, glancing over at him. “I know you’re probably going out of your way.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Ed responds with a smile. “Anything for a friend.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uughghghuh I’m sorry this took so long to update. School’s been kicking my ass lately.


	20. -

 

 

By the time Barbara reaches Gotham General, the red blotchiness has all but disappeared from her face and her sobs have been reduced to small sniffles. No one stops to ask her what’s wrong. She’s in a hospital after all, another crying woman is nothing new for them.

She isn’t crying because of anyone here. She’s at this hospital because she’d heard rumors that Tabitha Galavan had been sent here, though for what she wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, she’s sure it nothing she couldn’t pull through. As for the crying...well, she can’t say that’s anything new either. She’s never cried because of her parents, nor for any of the snobs that set her on edge at work, but there was one man that had made himself a habit of bringing her to tears lately.

She considers finding him again. He hadn’t told her where he was going, in fact he seemed pretty keen on never seeing her ever again, but she recalls him mentioning that ‘Ed’ could help him before leaving in the alley outside Artemis.

Barbara sighs to herself. Between Jim and Oswald, she’d be lucky if she never heard that stupid name again.

Even if she did track him down again, what good would that do her? She’d offered him an apology, she’d helped him find this ‘Philosopher’ he was looking for. She’d done everything she could have to show him how she’d changed, and he’d refused it all.

So here she is, crawling back to caretakers. She couldn’t face Strange again, not after he’d been so determined to see her gone from Arkham. Tabitha seemed like the next best thing, save for the fact that she was apparently indisposed.

When she reaches the room, she finds Tabitha asleep in her hospital bed, and she isn’t alone. She recognizes the form of Butch Gilzean, slumped in a chair beside her. She remembers Tabitha commenting on him before, she never thought anything would come out of it. Guess she was wrong.

“What happened to her?”

Butch turns around, startled by her voice.

“Barbara Kean...I thought you were comatose.”

“I was, I’ve only been awake for a few weeks. Professor Strange said it fixed me and that I was free to leave.”

If Butch has any objections to her presence, he keeps them to himself as he turns back to Tabitha. Barbara steps closer herself, getting a better look at the damage.

“How did this happen?”

“Doctor said she was stabbed. No doubt it was that looney, un-dead brother of hers.”

“Oh god, I heard about that.” She pulls a chair up to the bedside, taking a seat. Her eyes roam over the bandage covering Tabitha’s midsection. When they’d been together, Barbara had taken her time exploring every inch of Tabitha’s body. Despite the danger in her profession, she’d never found any evidence of it marring her skin. To think that would no longer be the case was unsettling, to say the least. “What the hell is going on in this place?”

“I don’t know,” Butch sighs. “I’ll tell ya, ever since that night Falcone left, nothing’s been the same.”

“I don’t think it was Falcone. Things were changing long before that whole mess.”

“Maybe, but it was Falcone that held it all together. He leaves, Maroni dies, and then Fish…” His breath hitches. Barbara looks at him, noting the tiredness in his face. What else had happened when she was gone?

“This city’s changing, and I don’t think I want to be there when it stops.”

“You’re leaving Gotham?”

“Everyone else wants me out, I don’t think I can disagree with them.”

“What do you mean ‘everyone wants you out’, what did you do?”

“Not enough, apparently,” Butch chuckles. “A lot’s happened since you went under.”

Barbara looks over her shoulder, half expecting some goon walking in with their guns out. “If you’re saying everyone’s coming after you, how’re you going to get out of town alive?”

“I have a guy that can get it sorted out for me. Once Tabby’s good to go, we’ll take the next line down South.”

“That could take days, why wait?”

“Y’know I’m wondering that myself. She was ready to let me get my ass killed just yesterday, I should probably return the favor.” There’s real hurt in his voice, but his gaze softens as he looks back over Tabitha. “...But I can’t do that to her. If she’s not going then neither am I.”

“That sounds like a bad choice, if I’m being honest.”

“Oh it is, but it’s the choice I’m making.”

“You think you two have room for one more,” Barbara asks with a small smile. “It be nice catching up with her if we’re all on a road trip.”

“If you can convince Tabby into leaving this place, I don’t see why not,” Butch says with a smile of his own.

“I can agree to that.”

“There’s a fair bit of money that I haven’t lost yet. I’ll give Ed a call, see what he can do about getting us a hotel room.”

Barbara freezes in her seat. “Your guy’s name is _Ed_?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

 

**.**

**.**

 

“This is quite the place you got here,” Ed says as Jim finally prys open his front door. The room Jim is staying at is the basement apartment of an old, crumbling building. As they walk through the door, he finds the space is exactly how he expected it to be, small and dark.

Jim snorts. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t rub it in.” He closes the door behind them before walking into the kitchen. “Can I get you anything? Coffee?”

“Sounds delightful.” Ed takes a seat at the table, the space taking up a corner of the cramped room. “So what’s new with you, did you get any new leads on this ‘Snipe’ you’re looking for.”

“I haven’t really had time to look into it actually,” Jim says as he fiddles with the machine.

“Oh.” Well, that’s disappointing. He’d been so eager to hear of what those clowns at the GCPD had been doing with his little puzzle. “I guess you’ve had a lot on your mind, what with Theo Galavan showing up and what not. Did you guys ever find him?”

“To my knowledge, no.”

“So he just disappeared without a trace? What happened to him you think?”

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk-”

He’s interrupted as the beeping of a cell phone chimes from his pocket. His brows furrow when he sees the number.

“Who is it?”

“Not sure,” Jim says, placing the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

There’s a pause as Jim listens to the voice on the other end, his eyes widening. “How did you get my number?” Another pause. “That’s none of your business. Don’t call me again.”

As he pulls the phone away from his ear, Ed can make out a woman’s voice calling out Jim’s name before he snaps the phone shut.

“Who was it?”

“Remember that long day I was talking about earlier?”

“You want to tell me about it?”

Jim shakes his head. “It’s not important.”

The machine beeps, Jim pours them each a cup.

“So, I take it you want to discuss Galavan rising from the grave.”

“Yeah…or no. I’m sure yet.” Jim sighs as he takes his seat across from Ed, setting each of the mugs in front of them. “Honestly, I just need someone that can tell me if I’m insane or not. You remember what I told you about Matches Malone?”

“The real Wayne killer? You said something about him being hired by someone else. Did you find out who did it?”

“Not yet, but I know now whoever it was did so under the name Philosopher.”

It’s not any name Ed recognizes, so it’s probably not anyone in the mob. “That’s all you’ve found out about them?”

“Directly yes, but I think they might be connected to a number of occurrences that have happened over the last few weeks. Some time ago, Alfred Pennyworth showed up at the station with a woman named Karen Jennings. Jennings was known to us as an escaped convict from Blackgate that disappeared a few years back. According to Alfred, she had been an experimental patient at a Wayne Enterprises facility called Pinewood Farms.”

“Pinewood? I’ve never heard of it.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. It’s a top secret facility that’s been closed down for years. Jennings claimed that she and several others had been subjected to extreme medical experimentation.”

“Like what, exactly?”

“Well, she had a claw in place of one of her hands, if that gives you the idea.”

The description is too familiar for Ed’s liking. The mind immediately travels back to Oswald’s recollection of Arkham’s labs, with mutants and monstrosities abound. Strange had all but convinced him that they were nothing more than the ramblings of Oswald’s drugged out therapy sessions, but he couldn’t deny the similarities in those claims. The realization that Strange could be far more dangerous than he’d anticipated sets him on edge.

“I’d been hoping to talk to her, and I might have, had Victor Fries not gotten to her first.”

“The guy that freezes people? I thought he was dead.”

“Maybe he was, but so was Galavan.”

Ed falls back into his chair. “So what, they’ve moved on from making monsters to resurrection?”

“It appears so, or they’ve just managed to keep them alive without anyone knowing. Either way, they’d need to have some kind of space to work on them, something like Pinewood.”

“So, to recap, you’re saying the person responsible for the Wayne murders is an evil genius that has the tools to perform medical miracles in some sort of secret lair, which is all somehow related to the city’s most influential corporation? That’s a tall order you’ve got there, Jim.”

“I know it sounds ridiculous…”

“To be honest, I’m quite intrigued. By the sound of it, you’ve got a real villain on your hands.”

“Who ever did it, they’ve got to be one deranged son of a bitch. Hell, for all I know, the Snipe is another part of this madness. Just another psychopath to add into the mix.”

At that particular word, Ed feels the blood in his veins grind to a halt. Hearing it come from Jim Gordon of all people pulls something out from deep inside him.

“Psychopath seems like a strong word.”

Jim gives him a look. “The guy mutilates his victims and scribbles on walls with their blood, you wouldn’t call that a little sick?”

“Actually, detective, I would say they demonstrate a high level of intellect. It takes a well working mind to execute a plan like that.”

“Intellect has nothing to do with it. Any person that kills someone so sadistically can’t be sane.”

“Is that what you really think? Do you think that I’m insane then?”

“ _What are you doing_?!” He hears his inner voice scream at him, but ignores it as he waits for Jim to answer.

“What happened between you and Dougherty was self defense… a single incident.”

“If it takes the death of many to consider someone a psychopath, then wouldn’t you count yourself a such? After all, you’ve killed a good number of people, haven’t you?”

Jim tenses. “That was in the line of duty.”

“...And death in the line of duty doesn’t count, of course.” Ed smiles. “See, even by your standards, our killer wouldn’t be insane, given we know they were affiliated with the mob. Sure, most of them like to get things done quick, but Oswald always said those guys could go a little overboard sometimes, if the situation arose-”

“ _Oswald_?”

Ed freezes.

“You mean Oswald Cobblepot?”

Ed swallows. “Yes. I was still in Arkham at the time he was incarcerated.”

“Yeah, I remember that,” Jim says with narrowed eyes. “I just didn’t know you two were on a first name basis.”

He feels his heart beat pulsing through his vein, blood thrumming loudly in his ears.

“I-uh...the Professor wanted us all to address each other by our first names when we spoke with each other.”

Jim quirks a brow. “...And you did that often?”

“Only when we had to, which was pretty rare,” he quickly adds. “He would go on tirades every now and then. O-or sometimes he sat near me in the dining hall and we’d talk then and uhm…”

“ _Shut up_ ! _You’re talking too much_!”

His eyes shift down to the reflection in his cup, glaring back at him. When he looks back up at Gordon, he’s met with that ever-suspicious stare.

“I-uh.” He fidgets with the mug, chuckling as he tries to rephrase himself. “I’m sorry, I just-uh-just realized how off topic I’ve gotten. What was you wanted from me?”

“What kind of things did you and Penguin talk about, Ed?”

That voice. He doesn’t like that voice. It’s no longer that of two friends having a conversation. It’s the voice Jim uses when he’s talking with his suspects, when he has them right where he wants them. He realizes no amount of words can turn this conversation around. He’s been caught, fair and square.

He supposes he should be afraid now, but all he feels is the steady rush of adrenaline lying beneath the panic. It’s that same, blissful rush he felt with Dougherty, and Van Dahl, and all those others. So instead of giving himself into that fear, he relaxes into the flow.

“He talked about you quite a bit actually, said the two of you got pretty chummy.”

“Did he now,” Jim sneers. “In what way?”

“You asked him for a favor or two, and he sometimes asked something of you,” Ed shrugs. “Nothing out of the of ordinary for a man of the law around these parts. Just another _dirty cop_.”

The two of them stare each other down, Ed relishing the way Jim’s jaw locks in anger.

“Did he ever say anything about the night Theo Galavan died?”

He can’t help the smirk that pulls at his lips.

“Maybe.”

If Jim has any more to say, it’s cut off as Ed splashes the hot coffee into his face. He barely has time to duck as Ed lobs the mug at his head, using it to run out, past the door into the alley.

Once he’s a fair distance down the row of buildings, Ed turns a corner, pulling out his gun as he waits. It only takes a few seconds before he hears the scurried steps of Jim running after him. When he’s close enough, he spins around and takes the shot.

It’s a miss, but a small one. Jim grunts as he places his hand over his cheek where the bullet grazed him. Ed charges him, pushing into him and sending him hard onto his back. As Jim tries to push himself up, Ed takes aim again. At this distance there’s no way he could miss again. He cocks the gun, finger ready on the trigger and then...

Bam!

Something hard slams into his face, sending him down to the ground. He hears the cracking of his glasses falling to the pavement, accompanied by a woman’s voice.

“Jim! Are you okay?”

Ed groans into the pavement, his head swirling in between the pulses of pain. He doesn’t have time to register what’s happening when he feels someone rolling him over, tying his hands behind his back.

“I thought I told you to stay away from me,” Jim says from above him.

“Oh shut up! You’d be dead if I hadn’t been here in time.”

A moment later and Ed is being pulled up and propped against the alley wall.

Under the light of streetlamp overhead, he can make out the blurry figures of Jim and a blond woman dressed in black.

“Why did you do it,” Jim asks.

Ed gives him a smile. “Do what?”

“Don’t fuck around, I know it was you! You were the witness Van Dahl was going to use against me.”

“Is that all you think I did,” Ed chuckles.

“...You’re the Snipe, aren’t you.”

“Oh stop with that ridiculous name! There’s nothing chaotic about what I do. I control everything that happens, you’re just too stupid to realize it.”

“My God, you are insane.”

The next thing to pass in front of Ed’s vision is the woman’s face as she looks closer at him. Now that’s she’s within his line of sight, he recognizes her as Barbara Kean.

“Oh my god, it’s _you_.”

“You’ve seen him before,” Jim asks.

“Yeah, at Arkham. I thought maybe he was someone’s lawyer, but...You were visiting Oswald, weren’t you?”

“Oswald…”

Ed tenses as he recognizes Butch’s voice. _Since when had he been there?!_ There’s silence in what he assumes is Butch putting the pieces together, before he rushes over to him with a low growl.

“You little son of a bitch! You’ve been working for Penguin this whole time?!”

“He’s been doing a lot more than that, trust me,” Barbara says.

Before Butch has time to ask what she means, Jim pushes him away as he stands over Ed.

“How the hell did this happen? How did you become this?”

“You dummy,” Ed sneers. “This is who I am. It was just finally admitting the truth to myself. Well, that and murdering a few people.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“No, you wouldn’t, would you. You never thought I could be anything more than a helpless wimp. Don’t think I don’t remember what you said that day in court. Thompkins had to practically force herself to give that testimony, but you actually believed that nonsense.”

“So I had to suffer because I wanted to help you!? I was your friend!”

“Were you, Jim? Or did you just pity me? Oh, poor, weird, little Ed, with his silly wordplay and his riddles. Don’t make me laugh.”

Jim doesn’t say anything more as he stares at Ed from above. Barbara approaches him. “You gonna arrest this guy?”

Ed doesn’t need his glasses to see the look on Jim’s face, his silence is telling enough.

“You can’t. You’re not a cop anymore, are you,” Ed laughs. “What happened? Did our esteemed captain decide to let you go, or did you quit before he could? Don’t tell me the great, noble Jim Gordon gave up on this fair city! Say it isn’t so!”

“You’ll shut your mouth if you know what’s good for you,” Jim snaps.

“Please tell me, did anyone see you? Did you get to see how disappointed everyone is in you? How does it feel knowing how pathetic they all think you really are?!”

The taunt is met with a sharp kick in the stomach. Ed chokes as the air is forced out of his body.

“What do want to do with him?”

There’s probably a lot of things Jim wants to do to him right now. Ever the saint, he pulls out his phone. “I’ll call Harv, have him take him down to the station.”

“Like hell you will.” Butch yanks the phone from Jim’s hand, tossing it hard against the wall.

“Hey!”

Butch ignores Jim as he pulls Ed up by the collar of his shirt.

“I’m gonna kill you myself, you little rat,“ he hisses, but Ed laughs.

“No you’re not, because _you_ ,” he says, pointing weakly to Jim “...need me alive.”

Jim catches on quickly. He pushes Gilzean away, backing Ed against the wall.

“What do you know about the Philosopher?”

“Quite a bit, really. I know his name, where he performs his experiments.”

“How long have you known?!”

“I only realized the truth now, as we were talking. I’ve had suspicions for a while, but you’ve just confirmed them.”

Jim presses into him harder. “Tell me everything...now!”

“When I was in Arkham, Oswald told me that he’d seen something. He said that Professor Strange was taking patients and turning them into monsters.”

“You’re saying the Philosopher is Hugo Strange?”

“Think about it, he has the equipment, the space, the...resources.”

“How is he doing it?”

“I couldn’t say, but I can take you to where he does it. There’s a lab hidden inside the building, that’s where he’s keeping them all. I know where it is and I how to access it.”

Jim narrows his eyes. “How do I know you’re not just lying now. Why should should I believe anything you say?”

“You don’t, and you shouldn’t, but you will because I am your only chance of ever getting into that place.”

Jim takes a moment to consider the offer. The hand pressing against Jim’s shoulder pulls back.

“It seems we have a common goal, Ed.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Butch growls.

“This is bigger than your little feud Gilzean,” Jim growls back as cuts the ties at Ed’s wrists.

“If I’ve learned anything about the underworld, it’s that you don’t ask about things you don’t understand.”

“That got you so far, didn’t it,” Ed sneers.

“I’m going to enjoy killing you, you weasley nerd.”

Jim looks between the two of them. “Hey Ed, what are planning to do with Butch?”

“Hmmm, I was thinking something along the lines of a hole, six feet deep, just outside of town. I’ve got a few people waiting on the edge of their seats to finish the job.”

“...And if he were to aid us?”

“...I might be open to alternatives.”

Jim looks back to Butch, who says nothing as he clenches his fists. It’s a silent surrender, one that Ed accepts.

“Alrighty, if we’re all sorted out, I suggest you let me do my thing.”

He staggers past the others, picking up his broken glasses and pulling out his phone. He pays no mind to Jim or Butch, ignoring their glaring as he sends for his men.

Let them be mad. What could they do about it now?

 

**.**

**.**

 

One day of planning is all it takes, it seems Ed was already working on one before Jim found out.

Ed calls up a few of his cronies, guiding them through the roles they will play. Jim allows them to meet at his place, if only to get a better idea at what Ed’s really been up to the last few months.

There’s so much anger inside of him, there’s little else he can do but stare. He feels stupid, watching Ed as he gives orders to the other men. He’d been so convinced that this man was his friend, a good person with unfortunate circumstances in his life. Only now does he think back on all moments when Ed had been a touch out of character, times Jim had shrugged off as his usual awkwardness. He was no tortured soul, he was a cold, manipulative bastard.

Nearly everything bad that happened to him in the last few weeks could be traced to one person, and the thought of it filled him with rage.

Butch seems to be in much of the same boat. He stands next to Jim with the same glare on his face.

“You couldn’t find a place that had decent air conditioning,” he asks, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

Jim looks back to the group, Ed well distracted as he explains the plan for the third time to one of his dimmer henchmen.

“You’re right, it’s getting a bit cramped.” He nods towards the door. “Why don’t we talk over here for bit.”

Butch shrugs, following him outside. They stand in the alley, taking in the cool breeze as Jim starts.

“Why so glum, Butch? You’re not happy with your new boss?”

“That punk is not my boss,” he growls. “He said he wouldn’t kill me, I hope he remembers that mercy when I break his face.”

“If anyone hears you talking like that, your not gonna get the chance.”

“I don’t care what he thinks he can do to me. This war, or whatever you call it, cost me my friends, I almost lost Tabby…” He shakes his head. “Mark my word, once I’m out of the clear, I’m sending him back down to whatever sewer he crawled out of.”

“You really think you can take him once he’s leading the mob? If you want this to end with you having any shred of respect you can salvage, you need stop moping and get ready to act.”

“What are you saying?”

Jim steps closer, voice just above a whisper. “I’m saying that you need to get rid of Ed as soon as you can.”

Butch stares at him with wide eyes as he scoffs.  “Oh _now_ you want him out,” he hisses. “You’re the one that said we should listen to him in the first place.”

“Ed knows Arkham’s layout better than anyone. All I need is to get into that building, get Strange, and make him talk. Once I’m in, Ed as no use for me.”

Butch crosses his arms. “So what are you suggesting we do about that?”

“Tomorrow, you and Ed are going to be inside Arkham. If everything goes according to plan, you’ll a chance to get him alone. I don’t care what you do, kill him lock him up, whatever you want. Ed stays in Arkham, you get your turf back. You think you can do it?”

Butch considers the offer, giving Jim a smile.

“Gordon, it would be my utmost pleasure.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re nearing the end of Part 2! Time to break this bird out of his cage.


	21. -

 

 

Ed would never refer Butch Gilzean as a man with taste. His style was the unoriginal tackiness of any gangster, made up of the poor man’s ideal of luxury. Regardless, he has to admit that he likes his car. The leather is still unweathered and the outside sports an untouched coat of black. It might not be new, but it was pristine enough to pass. It’d be a nice welcome home gift for Oswald when the day was over and done with.

When he looks over to Butch, he’s staring out through the window, watching the trees they pass by.

“I’m shocked. It almost looks like you have something on your mind. Care to share with the class?”

Butch turns to him. “This plan sucks.”

“Actually, this plan is brilliant.”

“Gordon?” Butch inquires to the man sitting at the driver’s seat in full regalia.

Jim nods. “It sucks.”

“Well, this plan is the only thing getting  _ you _ close to Strange and keeping  _ you _ from being shot full of lead,” Ed hisses at the both of them. “So you’d both better appreciate it.”

They say nothing more, though Ed is sure he catches Butch mocking him from the reflection of the glass. Soon enough, they’re stopped outside of Arkham’s gates. Jim gives the guard their names, and they’re given the go-ahead to park. All’s going well so far, despite the guard’s eyes following them as they pass through the iron bars.

As they park, Ed spies Peabody waiting for them at the doors.

“It doesn’t look like Strange is here yet. He’ll probably ask us to go to his office to sign paperwork, that’s when we’ll make our move. Once we’re there, you can grab him, and I’ll keep watch for any guards.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Butch waves him off, his voice tense.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t like these places, they freak me out.”

Ed rolls his eyes. “Oh boo hoo.”

As Jim plays his part opening the doors for him and Butch, Ed hands him a small map he’d drawn of the building, passing it off as a friendly tip to any curious eyes. He’d need it to find his way to the secret elevator once he managed to get a hold of a guard uniform. Assuming no one gave him trouble when he used his old identification badge, he’d be free to find the door and pick the lock as they found Strange.

“How much time can you get me?” Jim asks.

“An hour...maybe two.”

“That’s not much.”

“It’s what you’ve got, work with it.”

With that, he leaves Jim behind, walking with Butch towards their welcoming party. Aside from Peabody, there’s a pair of guards with her. “Good afternoon,” she says once they’ve reached the front steps.

“Hi. Butch Gilzean,” he says with a smile, extending his hand for a shake she doesn’t take.

“I’m aware. I assume you’re here for your consultation.”

“Yes mam. I’m looking to have myself committed.”

“You said as much when you called, although you failed to mention why.”

“What can I say, living life on the edge takes its toll on ya. I can’t even get a wink of sleep anymore thinkin’ of all the poor saps I’ve offed.”

Ed has to stifle a sigh. The man could at least  _ try _ to act like a crazy person on the verge of a breakdown. He’d even made Butch a script when he’d given him his role, although that had been thrown into the trash immediately.

“I wasn’t expecting you to bring company,” Peabody says, narrowing her eyes at Ed.

“My friend here’s the one that recommended this place. I figured he could give me some tips before I get situated. Aint that right?” The question is punctuated by a hard slap to Ed’s back which almost knocks him over. He sends a glare Butch’s way, but replies with a nod and a smile anyways.

Peabody gives Ed another dubious glance, but turns her attentions back to Butch. “Shall we get started on the paperwork?”

“Woah, I’m not signing anything until I get a good look around.”

“That won’t be a problem will it?” Ed asks.

“Not at all. Follow me.”

Of the two guards present, one follows them into the building while the other stands watch at the entrance. One guard alone shouldn’t be much of a problem for Jim to handle, and Butch could take down two on his own. Seems like this would be easier than he’d thought. All they need to do now is keep the staff occupied as Jim finishes his tasks.

Peabody takes them through the various facilities, with Ed tacking on little notes with each room they visit.  _ Fridays are great because the you get more time in the rec room. The cafeteria hours are decent, but maybe they should pass out snacks every now and then. Did they ever get the plumbing fixed in that bathroom? _ They’re usually cut short by Peabody’s yes/no answers, but they take up just enough time to stretch the tour out a good twenty minutes.

However, that twenty minutes isn’t much, and they’re already done with the tour in just over an hour.

“You’re sure there isn’t anywhere else we haven’t seen yet?” Butch asks when Peabody announces they’ve finished.

“You’ve seen the cafeteria, recreation room, therapy center, medical wing, shower room, visitor’s center and every floor of our sleeping quarters. So yes, I’m sure.”

“What about the offices-”

“That area is off limits to non-staff members. Unless you plan to take a visit to the isolation room, I suggest we get started on registering you with our system.”

“Well hang on, I can’t just go into this without knowing what I’m signing up for. I’d like to speak to the man in charge before I make any final decisions.”

“...And what is it you wish to speak about?”

They turn to find Strange standing behind them, calm as ever.

“I apologize for not greeting you at the entrance, I was busy meeting with another patient of mine. Is our facility to your liking, Mr. Gilzean?”

“Uhh...yeah, it’s great.”

“If your curious about or program, I can go over the regimen in greater detail in my office. Shall we?”

Butch makes to follow him, but stops when Ed nudges him. “Weren’t you saying you wanted to try out the uniforms first?”

“Oh. Right, that. I need to check that. Can’t get to work on fixing my brain if my clothes itch can I?”

“An excellent idea. As matter of fact, we need to check to make sure we still have a suit that will fit you correctly. Miss Peabody can escort you to our storage rooms, we’ll get you fitted for your uniform there.”

Butch casts Ed a glance, but reluctantly follows Peabody down the hall. Once they’re out of earshot, the smile slips from Strange’s face.

“I’d rather not have my time wasted by your petty games. What’s this all about?”

“I want to make a trade. I give you Gilzean, I get Oswald.”

“It’s not much of trade if you’re handing him over so freely, is it?”

“Consider it as a gesture of good faith. I see a lot of potential having a guy like you around, and I think we could help each other out. Why don’t we settle this now and start over. Once Oswald and I have situated ourselves, I’m sure we can work up a good deal with you and some of the city council.” 

“I already have that taken care of, actually. Besides, even if I wished to count Gilzean among my patients, I believe I made it clear that I have no intention on releasing Cobblepot any time soon. In fact, I’m also certain that I warned you that you would be subject to reinstutionalization if you continued pressing the matter.”

“C’mon Professor. We’re both reasonable men. I’m sure we can find a compromise.”

“No. We can’t. You’ve exhausted the little patience I had left for you’ve given me no other choice than to respond to your continuous harassment.”

There’s a flick of his hand, followed by footsteps. When Ed looks behind him, there’s a pair of guard walking up to him.

“What you’re kicking me out?”

“I have a better idea, actually.”

It’s last thing he hears before the fist barreling towards his face knocks him out cold.

 

**.**

**.**

 

When he wakes up, eyes fluttering against the harsh fluorescent lights above, he finds himself staring at the all too familiar stripes covering his body. He brings his aching head up to find Strange and Peabody, watching him with some amusement. His arms are stretched back behind the chair he’s been placed in, the cold metal of cuffs pulling them close. His eyes dart around the room, landing on the man sitting next to him in the same attire.

Butch sighs. “Brilliant plan, eh?”

“You surprise me, Mr. Gilzean,” Strange remarks. “I thought you would have known about Mr. Nygma’s history of unsuccessful scheming.”

“I’m starting to figure it out, yeah.”

“Miss Peabody, why don’t you go fetch a couple of commitment forms from my office?”

“Certainly,” she replies. She walks out of their small holding cell and down the hall, leaving them alone with Strange.

“I have to say I’m very disappointed in these circumstances, Edward. As the first patient released under our supervision, I would have hoped to never see you back here.”

“I don’t know, it seems to me you have a pretty bad recidivism rate. I mean just look at all the others. Between the freezing guy and the twelfth century knight reeking havoc, I’d say I’m the least of your concern.”

“Undoubtedly, which is why it pains me to waste so much of my time to make you understand. I’ve done everything I can to help you, but perhaps there are lost causes after all.”

“I’d say you’ve helped me Strange, in more ways than you know. A few days ago, I almost lost every step of progress I made, but thankfully you were there to help me put the pieces back together.”

“I don’t see how being forced to chain you to chair is particularly helpful.”

“The way I see it, you’ve subdued and captured the only challenge left to the Penguin’s return to crime. After all, it’s going to be a bit difficult recruiting people when you’re trapped in a madhouse, won’t it Butch?”

When he looks over to Butch, he’s met with confused eyes.

“Although, this could have been easier if you’d just accepted my trade offer. I might have even let you go freely.”

A sudden banging of gunshots rings off in the hallway outside, drawing Strange’s attention. The guard keeping watch runs off after some unseen foe, but a another shot and a pained groan ensures he never made it to his target.

There’s a few, short seconds when the room is silent. Not even the sound of breathing can be heard as both Strange and Butch stare quietly at the small window opening into the hall. A jingling of cell keys followed by a small click, and the door swings open, revealing the assailant holding pointing a gun directly at Strange.

“Miss Kean…”

Barbara smiles, holding out her hand. “Keys please.”

Strange reluctantly pulls a ring of keys from his pocket, which he places into her hands. She tosses them to Ed, who feels out for the handcuffs’ master key.

“I had her schedule an appointment before we got here,” he explains as he unlocks his own cuffs. “Based on what she told about her departure, I figured she’d be the last person Strange expected of taking part in this.” Once Ed has the cuffs off, he turns to Butch. “I’d unlock yours as well, but I gotta say, you just look so much better where you are now.”

Butch ignores the quip, too stunned to speak as he watches Barbara give him a lopsided smile.

“Sorry Butch. For what it’s worth, I know you’re not the worst this town has to offer.”

“...But, what about Tabby? We were gonna leave-”

“I know. You love her and want to keep her safe, I never doubted that. When we were in that hospital, I saw everything in your eyes. You were thinking about everything you should have done, how you could have helped her with her brother, but I know that there was nothing you could have done...and frankly, that’s your problem.” Barbara shakes her head, disgust pervading her voice. “You’re just so  _ weak _ . She’ll be better off without you weighing her down.”

“Well, you sure did put your eggs in the right basket didn’t you,” Butch hisses,”...pairing up with this clown.”

Ed gives him a look. “I don’t follow. You’re saying she’s wrong for choosing the winning side?”

“You haven’t won anything. I ain’t the only one in this building that wants you dead.”

“Oh? Are you referring to Jim?” The way butch freezes brings a smile to Ed’s face. “You think Jim Gordon didn’t already know about all of this? You think you were the only one he had a  _ little chat _ with before we started? He was probably hoping we’d just kill each other, but there’s no way that was ever going to happen. After all, we both know who the smart one is, don’t we?”

“Look at the bright side, you got what you wanted right? Why kill you when I can watch you waste whatever’s left of your miserable life here instead?”

Gritting his teeth, Butch pulls as hard as he can against his cuffs. Ed supposes the man could possess enough strength to wear down the mechanism in time, but it matters little as he locks the cell door.

“So long, Butch,” he says, leaving the cell behind as Barbara pulls Strange along with her.

 

 

 

When they reach the elevator, they find Jim waiting for them.

“You’re still here,” he remarks, not bothering to hide his disappointment.

“Oh, wipe that frown from your face. We both know you were rooting for me. Although, if you really wanted to give me a challenge, you had plenty of more suitable choices.”

“Sounds like you’ve caught me, Ed. What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing actually,” he shrugs. “I’m rather impressed. Only a couple days away from the station and your true colors are shining brighter than ever.”

The next thing he hears is low chuckling that he realizes is coming from Strange.

“What’s so funny?”

“Did you really believe I wouldn’t recognize you, Detective Gordon? I have cameras set up everywhere, even beyond the premises of Arkham. As soon as I saw your face on my screen, I had my staff follow your every move throughout the facility.”

From down the hallway, the rustling of footsteps echoes over the walls. In mere moments, guards are pooling into the room, guns out and pointed directly at the three of them. A quick count brings the total to seven men, and at this range, there’s no way any of them could miss.

“Unfortunately, my benefactors wouldn’t be happy to hear about this little mishap, so I’m afraid my men will have to take more drastic-”

His words are cut off by the string of gunshots firing through the room. When he looks over, half of the guards are lying dead on the ground, having just been shot by the others. One of them evidently isn’t too far gone yet and writhes with a low groan, only to be silenced by another gunshot to the head.

“You mean those men?” Ed asks with a smirk.

Strange looks confusedly between the guards. As he gets a better look at their faces, probably realizing that none of them are members of staff that he recognizes, that ever present smugness in his face has vanished entirely.

“Don’t worry about them. They’re here to make sure there’s no one interrupting us,” Ed explains. “Plus, I figured they’d make nice additions to the staff once we got around to switching out the management.”

“You want us to take care of the rest of ‘em, boss?” One of the men asks.

“Hmmm...Oh why not. Go wild you guys.”

The men walk off, while Barbara passes Strange over to Jim. “What about me?”

“You wait by the cars, make sure no one else tries to escape.”

She gives him an affirmative nod, passing Jim one last glance before the elevator doors shut.

They head down into the building, watching through the small pane of glass as they reach their destination. The lab is different from the rest of Arkham, modernized technology intertwined with the building’s older interiors. As they walk further through the halls, odd sounds begin to echo through the walls, shrieks and cries that sound more akin to animals than any human. 

They pass a few office doors before coming across what looks like a cell, though the door is heavily reinforced compared to those in the main building. For a second, the room appears to be empty, but that facade is quickly broken as a large, clawed hand suddenly grasps out at them through the bars. Jim pulls out his gun, firing a warning shot and sending the creature to the back of it’s cell. It’s definitely human _ oid _ , but to call it anything more would be a stretch. Spikes protrude across its body, long hair bristled as it growls at them.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Strange asks with a proud smile.

“What the hell,” Jim murmurs.

The feeling is much the same for Ed. Behind the veneer of aggression, this creature is a pitiful sight to behold. It’s eyes are wide with fear and the scarring from where the spikes protrude reflects the pain it must have felt as they grew in. It makes him angry.

“I don’t care much for these experiments of yours. I can only hope for your sake that your depravity hasn’t already reached Oswald. You’re going to take me to his cell-”

“...And what? You release him out into the world? You can’t do such a thing.”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to tell what I can or cannot do.”

“Edward please, you must understand that he’s in no position to leave this place. His psyche is in far too delicate of a state for him to live a normal life. If he were to get out, he’d bring chaos to the entire city.”

“Chaos to the entire city? Sounds fun. Now, let’s go-”

As he tries to pull Strange along, he finds Jim holding him back.

“No.”

Ed blinks. “Excuse me?”

“We’re not having him lead us to some place where we end up getting stuck with these things and let him escape. We have all the evidence we need, we should call the cops and let them deal with it now.”

“Let the cops...Did you forget our whole point of coming to Arkham? We’re here to break Oswald out of this place.”

“No, you’re here to get Oswald, I’m here to get to get answers.”

“Answers can wait, Jim!”

Jim pulls Strange away, throwing him into the nearest office and locking the door behind him. When he’s done, he turns back to Ed with a murderous glare.

“Let me make this clear to you, Nygma. You alone are responsible for everything that’s fucked up my life over the last month. The only reason I haven’t returned the favor is because I know getting Oswald back in the game is the only thing stopping another power frenzy between the crime families. Once this is all over and done with, believe me when I say you’ve got a storm coming your way that you aren’t going to live through...But for now, we both have more important things to attend to. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me, and now you are gonna get me what I need, or I swear I’ll drag your ass back to that cell and lock you in with Gilzean. Got it?”

Ed grits his teeth, but even he knows he’d never be able to best Jim in a fight. There’s no choice for him now other than to concede.

“Fine then. We’ll do  _ your _ thing. Let’s not even take a moment to consider what sort of awful predicament Oswald could be in right now.”

“Thanks. I won’t.” He opens the door again, shoving Strange further inside. He sits him down against a chair, locking his hands behind the frame while Ed glances around the room. It looks like they’ve found themselves in is the security office. The wall is covered with screens, flicking between the various monstrosities being housed down there. Many of them have been reduced to strange abnormalities, but a few of them still resemble the humans they were created from.

The first person he recognizes is Theo Galavan, pacing throughout his cell, stripped of the amor he’d once adorned. Then Victor Fries appears as he works away on some tech in what looks like a large icebox. Then there’s Bridgit Pike, someone Ed vaguely remembers had been burned alive sometime before his own incarceration. Images of people that were declared dead, all of them moving as alive as ever.

“How did you bring them back to life?”

“Years of research and experimentation, Nygma. What else?”

Ed sneers at the half-answer, but keeps his eyes trained on the screens, looking for that one person he needs to find.

“Experimentation that your benefactors never approve of, I’m guess,” Jim says. He pulls up the second chair, sitting himself in front of Strange. “Thomas Wayne didn’t like it. He even managed to get your program shut down.”

“The program was shut down due to location issues, not just his meddling-”

“...But it scared you, didn’t it? He was going to take his information and you didn’t want that.”

“It’s not about what I want or do not. There are higher powers in play that you could not fathom in the slightest, things Thomas never should have gotten himself involved in.”

For a moment, Ed’s attention is drawn away from the screens. What higher powers was Strange talking about? It wasn’t in character for a man with a God complex such as him to believe in a greater force.

“That man courted death. I tried to warn him, but he never listened to me, his friend.” 

“So because he didn’t trust you, you hired a hitman to kill him and his family?”

“I  _ saved _ his family. If I hadn’t done it someone else would have, and I can assure you they would not have spared the boy’s life.”

_ Very curious... _

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees him. Curled on the floor of one the cells is Oswald, an unmoving figure in the middle of the screen. He releases a sigh of relief. There’s no stitches, no extra limbs, nothing abominable to be seen anywhere on his body. There’s still little comfort for him when he sees how poor of a condition he’s in. His features are gaunt and looks thin, and he’s covered in scratches. Maybe he isn’t like Strange’s other projects, but the evidence of torture is still clear in his frame.

He takes a mental note of the room number before he turns back to the others. Neither of them are paying him any mind, making it easy for him to slip his fingers around Jim’s gun. The clicking of metal draws Jim’s attention once again, and he tries to grab Ed’s hand away, but is just a bit too slow as Ed moves back, pointing the gun directly at him.

“Well gentlemen, this has been a blast, but it seems I’m needed elsewhere.”

“Ed-”

“It’s just a precaution, can’t have you trying to stop me again, can I? Don’t worry, I’ll give the two of you some alone time...But first I’d like to say goodbye to you Professor. I told you that you’ve helped me in many ways, I meant that. Though I hate to admit it, you’ve helped me realize the truth about myself. If it weren’t for you, I may never have found out who I really was.”

“...And who would that be?” Strange asks, and Ed smiles.

“Isn’t is obvious?”

He’s made it to the door when he remembers one, final detail.

“Oh and Professor…One last thing.”

Strange glances up at him, as he pulls out the set of keys. Next to the monitors is a small panel locked by a keyhole. The shape is simple, a small circle with a peg, matching one of the keys exactly. When he holds up the key for Strange to see, the man’s face goes blank.

“Nygma don’t-”

It’s already too late as Ed shives the key in place, pulling back the panel. Behind the metal is a single, red button that he immediately presses. To his pleasant surprise, it does exactly what he hopes it to.

A siren blares as lights flash through the building. An automatic voice informs them that emergency services have been called. When he looks to Jim, he’s met with a dirty glare.

“What? You said you wanted us to get the cops involved.”

“Yeah, I did, precisely so that we could avoid  _ that _ ,” he says, pointing to the wall of screens.

One by one, the monitors all display the same warning - Cell Unlocked. The noise draws the curious creatures to the entrances of their cells, where many find their doors open. There’s nothing Strange can do but watch in horror as more and more of his creations all push their ways out into the corridor.

“Do you have any idea of what you’ve done?”

Ed opens the door, met by the shrieks and cries of whatever now lies down the hall. “Absolutely not, but I can’t wait to find out.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays!
> 
> Sorry for the long wait T___T I’ll hopefully have more time to write in the new year. 
> 
> For now, I’ll make it up to you guys by posting the next chapter soon. It’ll be the last chapter of Part 2. Stay tuned!


	22. -

 

 

There is nothing more Azrael can do other than pace through this metal prison he’s been forced into, soaking in his defeat day by day. He knows why his father brought him to this place. It is because he is ashamed. His own son, designated warrior to his people, has failed him, and at a menial task at that.

It had happened not long after his awakening. His father came to him, speaking of a man that threatened the foundations of their sacred order, a man known by the people as ‘Jim Gordon’. He gave unto his son the quest of slaying this defier and proving himself worthy of leading their followers in conquest once more.

Adorned in his armor and armed with a sword, he set out for the city, quickly finding his target. His first battle had been unsuccessful. He had managed to land a few blows against the soldiers that challenged him, but when face to face with the man himself, his weapon failed him, snapping in two. It was then that he realized his first mistake. It was not the true Sword of Sin that he had been given, merely a useless blade being passed off as such. Another test from his father, no doubt.

...And so he made his way to his family’s tomb, in search of his real weapon. There he was met by a witch, addressing herself as his sister. Such a thing was not possible. Azrael was not born of a woman, nor into any family. Yet her words brought visions to his mind, the two of them together in some far off land he could not place. He was able to slay her before she could say more, but the damage was done. His head was forever plagued by sights that were familiar, yet impossible, only distracting him further from his cause.

Once he had retrieved his blessed weapon, he returned to the fortress that housed his foe. There he waited, but his enemy was nowhere to be found. When his father called him back, asking about his task, he could only speak of his failure in shame. He is Azrael, praised knight of the Order of St. Dumas, and yet he could not find a simple man.

His sulking comes to an end as he is met with sudden shrieks from above, as if his quarters have been invaded by harpies sent to torment him. Lighting and amber fire dances across the room in a frenzy. Amidst the chaos, he notices the door to his room moves, bleeding a small sliver of light across the wall.

He steps closer, catching the shadows passing by over that light. When he pushes the door open, he finds himself surrounded by horrid demons flitting about the corridor. Though monstrous as they are, he does not shy from them in fear. With a loud cry, he charges the nearest being, throwing himself atop it with full force. It topples to the ground in surprise, giving him time to grapple and subdue his foe.

...But then and firm grasp pulls him away.

“Enough of this!”

A woman stands above him, glaring down at him with one, evil eye. Her hair is an unnatural, fiery red, reflective of the hellfire she no doubt spawned from alongside the others.

“We can’t be running amok like animals. We need to work together and find a way out of this place.”

“Should we?” He pushes himself away from her. “Why should I do anything you say, demon?”

“Fine then.” She lashes out at him. He moves quickly, but it’s not enough for her to keep her hands off of him. “If that’s how you’re going to act, be my guest, but go about your business elsewhere.”

His initial instinct is to strike back, but a warm fuzziness spreads throughout his body, calming his thoughts and staying his hand. She is right. There are surely more important matters for him to attend to.

He stands, darting his eyes about the hall until he’s found a new direction to follow. Whatever lies beyond those walls will surely lead him towards his newest mission. With determination and will at hand, he straightens himself and walks away.

 

**.**

**.**

 

Loud noises pervade the silence he had blissfully drifted off to.

For so many nights now, sleep had evaded him. The anger that scorched his mind had given him no rest, with a cacophony of voices spewing their poisonous words at every nerve in his body. He’d beaten the walls, torn at his surroundings. Even after they’d deprived him of the usual luxuries he was accustomed to, his rampage led on. If he could not break his or his bed, he could always break himself. His skin had ripped, his bones had been pounded against the stony walls, his stomach had been emptied.

At some point, they’d come back, tired of his antics. The sedative had done its job, and soon he’d fallen into a deep slumber, free of the pains that the world had for him...But like all good things in his life, it had to come to an end. That beautiful silence that he’d fallen to, ripped away once more.

_Oswald._

That voice.

He knows that voice. A thing of beauty among the sirens in his ears. For a moment, he’s drawn back to that peace he yearns for.

_It’s time to go. Get up._

He doesn’t want to. His joints are stiff from the lack of movement, and is muscles ache from the various needles they had been prodded with not long before. If moves now, there’s no telling what pain he’ll be subjected to next. Light flashes behind closed eyes, a reminder of the machines waiting to torment him once more. Even loneliness is a thought to heavy for him to bear.

_Please wake up._

...But he can’t resist that voice. He knows even in his unconsciousness that there’s a possibility that voice isn’t real, that it’s just as likely another conjuring from his mind...But if there’s even a chance that this voice is really there, then he knows he won’t be alone much longer.

“Oswald?”

“Mmmhh.” The sirens that echoed in his ears aren’t as loud as before as his senses focus on his immediate surroundings. He opens his eyes, met with flashes of light that bounce across the wall. When he looks up he’s met with familiar eyes. “Ed?”

A smile spreads across Ed’s face. “You’re awake.” He presses a few soft kisses into his temple before pulling his arms around him. “For a moment there, I thought maybe you were too far gone.”

Oswald leans into the warmth of the hug, a comfort against the strangeness happening around them. “What’s happening?”

“It’s time, Oswald.”

“Time?” Over Ed’s shoulder, he sees the door to his cell swung open, but there’s no guards waiting to take him away. It’s just them. It’s then that the little flame of hope that burnt away is reignited in his chest. “You came for me...you’re taking me away from this place.”

Ed pulls away. “Yes, I am...But not yet.”

“I don’t understand,” he mumbles. What’s left to stop them from leaving?

“There’s something we need to do first. Something only you can do.”

It does little to quell his confusion, but he says nothing as Ed helps him to his feet. His body is sore from everything that’s transpired over the last few days, and he finds himself weak from hunger. He doesn’t even have to ask as Ed wraps his arm around him, pulling him along as he limps across the floor.

When they reach the hall, the rest of the facility proves to be more bizarre than the circumstances he awoke to. The patients he’d seen within the other cells now walk freely, some of them tearing through the building, while others stalk about.

Ed must have sensed his discomfort, because he tightens his hold on him. “Don’t worry, they haven’t tried anything yet. If they do I…”

He looks up at Ed, following his gaze. At the end of the hall is a man, just a regular person among the rabble. He stares off into different directions, as though he has yet to discover his purpose.

“There he is,” Ed says under his breath, a small smile forming at his lips. He gently releases his hold on Oswald, reaching over to one of the shelves nearby. His hand wraps around a wrench sitting among a box of equipment.

“What are you doing?”

Ed doesn’t answer. He flings the wrench straight at the other man, successfully hitting him in the side. The man snaps out of his stupor as he lets out a gasp. He looks towards them, eyes hardening when they land on the two of them. It isn’t long before he starts to move.

“C’mon. This way,” Ed says as he pulls Oswald along.

They weave around the halls, passing by cell after cell, with Ed occasionally looking back to make sure the man hasn’t caught up with them yet. Eventually they come across a larger room that Ed pulls him into. On a quick glance, Oswald supposes it’s some sort of testing chamber. It smells of oil and smoke, and the walls are lined with charred metal.

Ed looks around, eyes landing on a stack of boxes. He brings them over behind the boxes, propping Oswald against them. At this moment, there’s nothing Oswald wants more than to ask him what this is about, but Ed shushes him before he has the chance to speak.

“Stay here,” he whispers, and the next moment, he’s gone.

He waits, paralyzed with fear and bewilderment. _Why is he leaving me here? Why can’t we just leave this awful place already?_

He’s about to call out to him when something crashes, perhaps a shelf. There’s a low, angry growl, and it’s definitely not Ed.

“Foul spirits of Hell! You cannot hide from me!”

It’s another voice he recognizes, though he can’t place where he’s heard it before. For a moment, he fears that he’s on the verge of being discovered, but then Ed’s voice rings out.

“On the contrary, you’re just the man I was hoping to find.”

His words are followed by a single gunshot. There’s a low groan of pain, but not coming from Ed, and Oswald lets out a sigh of relief.

“You can come out now,” Ed calls out.

He does as he’s told, crawling out from behind the boxes. He walks over to Ed’s side, his eyes widening as he looks upon the person lying on the floor before them. It’s another face he recognizes, the face of a man that died many months ago.

“Ed, what’s going on?”

“I shot him at the knee, just something to keep him from standing. Rest is for you to finish. It’s the last thing we need to do, the only thing left that can hold you back."

He feels something cold pressed into his hands. When he looks down, he sees the pistol Ed handed him.

“Galavan is responsible for the death of your mother, a death of which you were given no closure. Jim took that from you, but you’ve been given another chance.”

He shakes his head. “No...n-no Ed, I can’t-”

“Yes, you can!” He grabs onto Oswald’s hands, aiming the gun at Galavan for him. “Don’t you see? This is the only thing you have left that’s holding you back. Once you’ve killed him, everything will be back to normal.”

He looks at Galavan, watching his face as he winces in pain. He’s seen it all before. Thinking back on that night now makes his stomach turn.

“What are you waiting for? Kill him.”

He should, that would definitely solve some of this mess, but he knows it wouldn’t be enough. Even with Galavan dead, he would always know of what he’s done. He can’t live with that lie, not the same way he had with his mother. He has to tell Ed the truth.

So he doesn’t shoot. Instead, his hand shakes until it has finally drops to his side.

“Ed...there’s something I need to tell you-”

“You…”

Galavan’s voice interrupts him. The man looks up at him, brows furrowed in confusion...but also familiarity. “I know you. You killed me.”

“Incorrect,” Ed says. “That was good ole Jim Gordon that did you in.”

“Gordon…” His eyes shift away, likely combing through whatever memories he still retains. He shakes his head. “No, he… it was you,” he says again.

Oswald takes a deep breath. “It’s true,” he swallows, looking over to Ed. He’s met with confusion as Ed looks between the two of them.

“You said…”

“Gordon and I… he stopped me, Ed, h-he had the gun and he pointed it and I was so sure that he was going to do… but he wouldn’t pull the trigger. I waited for him to do it, but nothing happened. I was just so angry and he was taking forever to do it, a-and I knew he wanted it! I could see it in his eyes how badly he wanted to do it...But he just wouldn’t! So I took the gun and did it myself. When I saw Jim again, and he refused to help me, I was just so angry at him. I thought that maybe if I…I don’t know. I don’t know what I thought would happen.”

“You lied to me?” Ed asks and Oswald wants nothing more than to hide away in shame. That wouldn’t do him any good. If he’s learned anything, it’s that he can’t simply hide from his problems.

“Yes,” he admits, holding back the tears that sting his eyes. “...and I am so sorry.” He turns back to Galavan, who watches them in perplexed silence. “...And I’m sorry for what I did to you. I let my anger get the best of me, and I did horrible things with that fury.” He stands above him, offering his hand. “Let us put this all behind us, we can help each other move forward.”

Galavan glances at the hand, before casting him a glare. “I care not for your forgiveness, fool.” He slaps Oswald’s hand away. Despite his knee, he manages to push himself up, standing tall and brimming with a ferocity that can’t be matched. “The only thing I desire of you is retribution,” he says, raising his fist.

Oswald reels back, holding his arms to guard the oncoming blow. It never comes. A loud gunshot rattles the air, and Galavan falls to floor again. When he turns around, Ed is standing quietly, gun in hand. His face is calm as he stows it into his back pocket, though when there eyes cross, Oswald is sure he sees something less pleasant there.

The chime of a ringtone breaks their gaze. Ed pulls his phone from his pocket, holding it to his ear.

“What?”

In the quiet, Oswald can make out the sound of Zsasz’s voice over the speaker. “ _What’s the deal, chief? Are we good to go?_ ”

“Gilzean’s been taken care of.”

“ _What about Penguin?_ ”

Ed pauses, giving Oswald a glance that he shies away from. “We’re on our way now. Do we have any holdouts?”

“ _There’s a couple of people we haven’t gotten a reply from yet, but I’m sure we can bring them over with the right persuasion._ ”

“Set up a meeting for tomorrow at the mansion. We’ll discuss property divisions then. The others will come around once they hear of the rewards.”

“ _Will do, boss._ ”

Ed snaps his phone shut. “C’mon, were leaving.” He doesn’t even give Oswald as second look.

A low groan behind them. They both turn, only to see Galavan weakly pushing himself off of the ground.

Ed sighs. “Really? What does it take to kill a guy like you?”

“Death will not take me, you fool,” he says, clutching his bleeding abdomen. “I am Azrael, the immortal knight of St. Dumas- Agh!” A sudden pain, brings him back to the floor again.

Ed scoffs. “Immortal, hm? Well I’d sure love to test that theory-”

“What are you doing here?”

They turn back towards the room’s exit. A woman stands at the door, clad in a suit that shines like metal. The skin beneath the large goggles covering her eyes is gnarled with burn scars.

“You’re Bridgit Pike, aren’t you?” Ed remarks.

She looks between them, face pinched in fury. “I am Firefly, the Goddess of Fire!”

“Uh...okay. That was going to be my second guess.”

“...And who are you?” she asks, raising the large flamethrower in her hands. “Thieves come to desecrate my temple?”

“Absolutely not,” Ed says, raising his hands in defense. “We would never wish to disrupt your palace. We merely wish to pass through.” He licks his lips, a smirk pulling at his lips. “In fact, we’ve come to you with tribute, in exchange for safe passage.”

“What sort of tribute?”

Ed walks over to Galavan, grabbing him by the back of his head and raising it for her to see. “Behold, a sacrifice to the Goddess of Fire.”

She walks closer, examining the man kneeled before her. “A sacrifice…”

“Yes, something for you to bless with your power and might,” Ed explains. “Something for you to burn.“

“Of course I burn them. I am the Goddess of Fire!”

“Yes, you mentioned that,” Ed mumbles under his breath. “Seems everyone needs to announce themselves today.”

The woman aims her weapon. “Stand aside, mortals, and behold my power.”

Ed moves away from Galavan, returning to Oswald’s side. Once they’re at a safe distance, the flamethrower is lit, spewing fire directly at Galavan’s mangled body. For a moment, he upholds his words with not so much as a wince as the flames lick his skin. However it isn’t long before that facade is broken, and the first patches of blisters bring with them the cries of pain. All Oswald can do is watch in horror as Galavan burns away in agony.

“That’s our cue to leave,” Ed whispers into his ear, and he’s thankful for it, unsure of how much more he could stand of this place. As they head out towards the elevator, he tries his best to focus on the alarms over the screams and sizzling from behind him.

 

 

 

The halls of Arkham are loud and busy as the freshly released inmates run wild. Ed and Oswald navigate their path with caution, though it seems everyone is too busy with their own mayhem to pay them any mind. They aren’t even met with security as they head towards the exit. Some of the guards try their best to manage the chaos, while most of them run from the impending crowd.

When they reach the front yard of the building, Oswald spots Barbara Kean waiting next to a pair of cars.

“What the hell is going on?” She asks as soon as she notices them. “Where’s Jim?”

Ed shrugs. “Probably still inside with Strange.”

“You just left him? By himself?!”

“You’re here aren’t you,” Ed snaps at her. “Maybe you should go make sure he’s okay instead of wasting both of our times.”

She glares at him before huffing and running back into the building. Oswald follows Ed as he guides him to one of the cars. As he opens the door, one of the guards approaches them.

“Boss, we just heard the cops are on their way. What’re we gonna do?”

Oswald looks between the perturbed guards in confusion. _Since when was Ed their boss?_

“What you’re going to do stay here and pretend like you’re handling the situation, and I’m going to leave.”

“H-hey I ain’t goin’ to prison for this-”

“Gentlemen, you are not going to prison. You are going to be _running_ the prison.”

The men look between each other. “...But what if they start askin’ us questions about this place?”

“Why would they? You’re just men doing your jobs. If they hassle you, just tell them to ask Strange about it. You’ve all proven to me that you’re worthy of handling this place, and to do that, you’ll need to show those officers that this is your territory. You understand me?”

One by one, the men relax. “Yeah, we understand. See ya around, boss.”

With that, they’re left to their own devices. Ed seats Oswald into the passenger seat, before starting the car and driving across the yard. The guard sends him off with a tip of the hat as he opens the gates, leading them out to the world. They drive alongside the the forest of trees with a sense of ease, as if they hadn’t just left a high security prison. It feels unreal, as though he’s caught himself in some sort of dream.

It doesn’t last long.

No less than a minute into their drive, he catches something odd in the rear view. It’s a bus, a weird sight to be seen on an island designated to house criminals. It seems Ed’s noticed it too, given the way he he squints at the mirror in confusion. Wherever it’s headed, it’s moving fast, and it isn’t long before it’s dangerously close behind them.

“What the hell?”

They both let out a startled yelp as bus rams into the back of their trunk, pushing them forward. Ed turns the car, allowing the bus some room to move past them, but the impatient vehicle only slides against them.

Oswald screams as he blocks the sparks of scraping metal flying around his face. Wind hits his body as the door to his side is ripped off. For a brief moment, he peer up at the bus, his eyes catching the driver. In that second, he can feel his heart stopping as he’s met with a pair of mismatched eyes staring back at him and a smile he knows all too well.

The second passes them by in an instant. Ed turns the car once more and they’re off the road completely. The bus drives by, not even bothering to stop as their car crashes into the thicket of trees.

They sit in stunned silence, catching their breaths in between the occasional cracking of branches. As his heart slows back to normal and the shivering begins to die down, Oswald tries to tell himself that it was just the panic, and that he couldn’t have possibly just seen Fish Mooney driving that bus.

A few minutes later, the sound of sirens passing them by shakes them back to reality. They share a glance, before Ed sighs. “Well, so much for keeping the car.”

 

**.**

**.**

 

The rest of their drive back to the manor is quiet, aside from the clunky metal scraps of their vehicle squeaking about as it barely holds together.

They leave the main road before it leads into the city. Ed takes a turn off into the sprawling meadows on the edge of town, passing by the large estates of Gotham’s gentry. Just before the sun sets, they pull into a long driveway, curving around a patch of oaks. Behind the trees is a house of grand proportions.

Ed guides them over the front steps and into the foyer. Marbled tile covers the floors, reflecting the light shining through the hall. Crystalline lights glowing against dark, wooden walls covered in old portraits and lined with baubles. The light of the setting sun glistens down from the stained glass above them painting the room with color.

 _This is my home,_ he realizes for the first time. _Our home._

“It’s beautiful.”

He follows Ed up the stairs into one of the bedrooms, the master, he supposes. The room is quite spacious and the bed itself is bigger than his old bedroom. They pass into a bathroom with walls covered in jeweled tile, and a large tub right in the center.

“You can wash off in the bath. There’s a robe in the closet you can wear. We’ll get you some new clothes the next time we go into town.”

Oswald nods quietly. “Thank you,” he says offhandedly, which receives him an odd look as Ed returns downstairs.

He takes his bath, letting the warm water loosen his muscles and sooth the cuts that litter his body. Despite the comfort he knows he should feel, he can’t help but worry about what will come next. He couldn’t yet tell what Ed felt about what he’d done, but given the amount of time he’d invested into the lie, it surely wasn’t going to be good. He'd made a promise to himself that he would be better, that he would face whatever problems he had coming to him, and there's was no way he was going to stop now, not with the most important person he had left in his life.

He stays there as long as he can, before the water turns uncomfortably chilly. When he’s done, he dries off and dresses into the silk robe waiting for him in the closet. He pads downstairs and into the living room. He finds Ed sitting on the couch across from a it fireplace, his face illuminated by the LED screen of the gameboy in his hands.

“Did you enjoy your bath?”

Oswald nods. He sits down next to Ed, quietly watching as he plays the game before he asks,“Are you mad at me?”

Ed cocks his head, setting the game aside. “For what?”

“For lying to you about Galavan.”

“...No,” he replies, turning his gaze back to the fire. “I’m just thinking.”

“What about?” He asks as he nestles himself into Ed’s shoulder.

“All these months, I had an idea of how everything would turn out by the end of this, but now I see that it’s not something that can’t happen just yet. It seems things are going to be a little different from how I thought they would.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

He takes his time considering the question, and this time, a small smile quirks at his lips.

“No. Not at all.”

He chuckles in relief as he nudges his way further against Ed chest. “I’m glad. I was worried that you hated me now.”

“Hated you? Even if it wasn’t the truth, I was able to do so much with it that hardly even matters. I mean, sure, I’ll have to rethink a few things, but…” He trails off, the smile slipping from his face.

“Ed?”

“What am I doing? I’ve been sitting here thinking about myself when you’ve just escaped from the madhouse. It’s already been well over a couple of hours and I haven’t even asked how you’re feeling.”

“I’m fine, now that I’m here with you,” he says, but Ed stands, arms crossed.

“You’ve been stuck in that-that _dungeon_ for weeks now and you must starving. I should be making us dinner and-” He pauses, before throwing his hands up. “I just remembered.”

“What?”

“I had a present I wanted to give you. Wait here.”

He sits quietly as Ed walks out into the hall. He hears the sounds of rustling as Ed rummages through one of the cabinets. When he returns, he’s carrying a package bundled in wrapping paper.

“You’re father wanted you to have this,” he says, handing it over to him.

He tugs at the string holding the package together. When the paper slips off, he recognizes the violet fabrics in his hands.

“Oh.” He unfolds the first article of clothing, a dark, plum jacket that complements the lilac dress shirt and purple tie sitting on his lap. “It’d been so long, I’d forgotten all about it.”

Ed places his hand over his shoulder, giving him a gentle, soothing rub. “He finished it just before…y’know.”

For the second time that day, he feels tears welling in his eyes, this time allowing himself the luxury of having the slip down his cheeks. He sets the suit aside, looking back at Ed with determination.

“Things are going to change, Ed. I’m not going to be that man I was, the one that got the people he loved killed. I’m going to be the honest man my father knew I could be. I’m going to make him proud. Him and my mother.”

His head fall back under the crook of Ed’s neck, making him unable to see the small scowl forming on the other man’s face.

“Yes, I’m sure you will.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 done \o/
> 
> We’ll be moving on to the next and final part to this story soon. Things are going to be getting pretty wild from here on out, so stay tuned! 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who’s read, kudosed and commented thus far. I appreciate every single one of them <3
> 
> See you all in Part 3!


	23. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back in business folks!

 

 

“Have you ever worked with people of high society?” Oswald asks as he peruses the resume in his hands.

“Well, I had to serve all sorts of people back at my old job, rich and poor alike.”

“Anyone that gave you an attitude?”

“Of course, but I’m used to dealing with rude people. I find as long as I keep my positivity in check, they’ll leave me alone eventually...or deal with security if it comes to that. It’s nothing I can’t handle.“

“That’s exactly what I want to hear,” he replies with a smile. “You’ll need that resilience if you’re going to tend bar here. We have many of Gotham’s elite among our patrons. Businessmen, politicians, we even had Mayor James stop by last week-”

“What about the Riddler?” The woman asks suddenly, and Oswald’s breath halts in his throat. “Has he ever stopped by?”

He sighs. He supposes he should expect such a question by now, but it never ceases to throw him off his guard. If he was lucky, she was just naively zealous and not another reporter trying to play detective.

“Miss…”

“Jenkins, sir.”

“Miss Jenkins, I’m well aware that my club does occasionally receive some _controversial_ characters, but I assure you that we are only providing the same service we would to anyone that comes through our doors. Not you nor anyone else have need to worry of any unsavory business at my club.”

“Oh, I’m not worried sir. I’m just...curious.”

“Well then, it seems we have everything in order. I must say, you seem like the perfect candidate for the position. If everything sounds good with you, we can have you working here by the weekend.”

“Excellent,” she says, clapping her hands. “I look forward to it.”

“I like your attitude already. Alright then, Miss Jay.”

“Um, actually it’s Jenk-”

“Go talk to Lark, she’ll help you with your uniform.”

As the woman walks off towards the bar, Oswald relaxes into the booth. Though there are still many hours left before it opens, the Iceberg Lounge is just as grand absent its patrons. To think that only a few, short months ago, no one would have believed him capable of running such an establishment.

The days leading up to its opening had been rough, with every news company in town lambasting him for his criminal past. There’d been threats from the public, as well as the GCPD’s Captain Barnes sending the occasional cop over to watch his every move. Even now with the simple task of finding a new bartender, he still has to worry about people trying to take him down.

However, the rampant criticism of his character had done little to diminish his newfound dream. All publicity is good publicity, as the saying goes, and in his case, that proved to be very much true. He had been nothing short of exuberant when opening night came and the lobby had been packed with eager patrons waiting to visit the Iceberg Lounge. It started initially with an alternative crowd, perhaps hoping to find some visage of the man that once held power over the city. As those first days passed by, he found those early patrons replaced by citizen more in alliance with his interests, people with status that solidified his newly elevated standing.

Though he was no longer the sort to brag, he couldn’t help but attribute some of his success to the work he’d put into his club. Between his family’s fortune and the earnings of his father’s company, he’d been able to shape the lounge into a visage of beauty worthy of Gotham’s gentry. Of course, there was the...other source of income from Ed’s side of the business that had contributed to the design, but he’d done his best to rely on his own. It was a respectable life built on his own merit, one that his parents would have approved of.

He’s drawn from his thoughts as Raven approaches him. “You have a visitor waiting in your office, Mr. Cobblepot.”

His furrows his brow. He was sure he hadn’t made any appointments today. “Thank you,” he says as he sends her off, standing to make his way over to his office. When he arrives at the door, he’s surprised at who he finds sitting at the seat in front of his desk.

“Miss Kean. What are you doing here?”

Barbara spins her chair around, a bright smile plastered across her face. “Why, I’m here to see you, Ozzie. Ed too, is he around?”

“You shouldn’t be here, we aren’t open yet.” He says coldly, much to Barbara’s shock.

“You don’t seem very happy to see me.”

“Well, maybe I’m not that happy to see you.”

“Why not? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“I don’t really know how true that is, if I’m being honest.”

“What do you mean?”

He limps over to his desk, taking a seat in his chair.

“Do you think I don’t watch the news?” He clicks on the small television he has set up in his office. Every local news station that has been replaying the speech Barbara gaze only a few days before.

“ _These monsters are terrorizing our citizens! What have our cops done about it? Nothing! What has our mayor, the man designated to serve you, done about it? Nothing!_ ”

There’s a roar of cheers from the crowd. Her audience is filled with angry civilians, carrying signs calling for the end of the ‘Freaks from Arkham’.

“ _Our government wants you to think the threat is gone, just so they can hide their incompetence from the world, but we all know the truth! We can no longer rely on the idiots in office for our safety. It is us that must stand together and fight against the evil that attacks our friends and families, and exterminate these freaks once and for all!_ ”

Another applause erupts for the crowd, one Oswald cannot bear to hear as he turns the television off again.

“Exterminate these freaks once and for all,” he repeats with a frown. “It’s more than a little hurtful, to say the least.”

“Oh Ozzie, you know I wasn’t talking about you.”

“Were you not? Am I not one of those escaped patients?”

“Of course you’re not. Whatever Strange did to you, it obviously wasn’t the same thing he did to the others.”

“Yes, you know that, but not everyone else does. I’m trying to run an honest business here at the lounge. If word gets out that I was among those escapees, my reputation could come under fire again.”

"It's already been six months, if no one's brought it up by now, I doubt they will later."

"I can't afford the risk. I've just managed to get the press off my back and now everything I’ve worked for could be ruined.

“I can tell you right now that it will never happen,” she says, placing a comforting hand over his. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to the two of you about, something that will secure power and position for all of us.”

He pulls his hand away. “I don’t want power. What I want is to be left to honor my father’s wishes without worrying about imminent scandal every other day.”

“You’ll have that too. Please, just hear me out, you won’t regret it.”

An old part of him wants to demand that she leave, that it’s the only reasonable response to having been insulted, but it’s quickly silenced by his better nature. The look in her eyes is sincere. What kind of person would he be to refuse her such a simple favor?

“Wait at the bar, have yourself a drink. I’ll go get him.”

 

 

 

“Has Judge Bam Bam given any response to our offer?”

“He’s agreed to our terms, but he’s asked that we let him take at least one man to trial for every five that he dismisses of charges.”

“With the money we’re paying him, it should be one for every ten. See if he’ll agree to three thousand a month over six, then we’ll talk.” Ed looks to the next man standing before him. “Anything to report from Arkham?”

“Nothing of note, though Quimby has asked for an increase to the security budget again.”

“Have there been any escapes or near successful attempts?”

“No.”

“Then security is fine, tell him no. If he asks me again, I'll cut the guards schedules in half and see how long he lasts.” He looks to the next man. “What about the Duke?

“He said he’d supply the guns for three-hundred a piece as long as he holds full control of the Bowery.”

“That’s fair. Tell him we’ll need five crates delivered by week’s end.“

“Yes sir, Mr. Riddler.”

He leaned back in his seat with a satisfied smirk. He loved hearing the name almost as much as he loved seeing it in the papers. His nightly escapades had made grand stories for the front pages of the Gotham Gazette, though the tales of his deeds were never directed at him. No news company had professionally confirmed his connection to the title yet, though a few no-name tabloids had suggested him as a suspect. Only in the presence of his underlings could he be properly credited for his work.

They were also the only ones that would say it with complete reverence. Oswald himself had thought it to be funny when he first came up with it, but who was he to talk with a name like Penguin?

A soft knocking interrupts their meeting, and the men glance around the room for its source.

_Speak of the devil._

“Alright, get out and get it done.”

“Yes boss,” they all say. The men shuffle out of his office to the hall leading out to the service elevator. When they’d acquired the space for the lounge, he and Oswald had agreed to save him a space to hold office, on the condition that he keep the entrance discreet. Right now, the rooms beyond his own retained the industrial grime of their original purpose. He’d spruce it up a bit once he had the time, but for now he was fine with just the office.

Once they’ve all left, he flips the switch at his desk, unlocking the entrance at the opposite wall. “Come in!”

The wall opens up as Oswald pushes through. What looks like a bookshelf from his office is a passageway into Ed’s, giving them easy access to one another throughout the day.

Oswald walks to him with a giddy smile. “How’s work?”

“Fine, just finishing up a few things.” He pulls Oswald down, pressing a quick kiss against his lips. “Did you find a suitable bartender?”

“I think so, but that’s not why I’m here. We have company.”

He’s guided out to the bar, where he sees Barbara talking with Lark in between sips of her cocktail. Her finger trails the rim of her glass as she speaks, her eyes dark and mischievous.

“Flirting with the staff again? Is two people sharing your affections not enough for you?”

Barbara turns towards them as Lark returns to stocking the liquor cabinets.

“If it isn’t my favorite Theodora. I haven’t seen you in a while. How’ve you been?”

“Well enough,” Ed replies, taking a seat. As soon as he’s comfortable in his chair, Lark is quick to hand him a grasshopper, which he sips from. “Tell me, are the rumors I’ve been hearing true?”

“That would depend, which ones have you heard?”

“Quite a few. How’s Jim fairing?”

“He’s doing a lot better. The necessity for bounty hunters has been higher than ever, with all of those weirdos running around out there, so there’s no shortage of money on his end.”

“I’ve been following his exploits in the papers,” Oswald says with a wide smile. ”That ordeal with the crocodile man, had me on the edge of my seat. It all sounds so exciting.”

“I’d love to hear them from the man himself. You should bring him with you the next time you’re here.”

Barbara hums. “I doubt that’ll happen. It seems he’s still miffed about you ruining his life and all at jazz.”

“Hey, if it weren’t for me releasing those things out of their cages, he wouldn’t have the job he has now. He should be grateful.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know that,” she says, taking another sip of her drink. “...But honestly, is my love life really what you’d like to talk about?”

“I suppose not. Why don’t we discuss your alleged political interests instead.”

Oswald’s eyes widen. “You’re running for office?”

Barbara sighs. “Spoiling my big surprise. Yes, I’m planning on announcing my mayoral candidacy in the next week.”

“That’s why you’ve been protesting for the capture of the Arkham escapees. You’re creating a platform to jumpstart your campaign.”

“Exactly. Can’t have a campaign without a reasonable cause to back it up.”

Oswald beams. “That’s wonderful! Although, I was sure the next election wasn’t for another year.”

“It is, but given the chaos reigning over this place, there’s been a lot of interest in removing James. All I need is a little public support to call for an emergency election.”

“This is all well and good,” Ed interrupts. “What has it got to do with us?”

“Well, every election requires campaigning, and campaigns always require a little bit of funding.”

“A little bit,” Ed chuckles. “More like millions of dollars that could be used towards more important business.”

“If I win, I’ll have control over city hall and the police, not to mention access to every dirty secret filed away. What could be more important than that?”

Ed hums. “I do love dirty secrets, but I don’t see why I’d need you for that. Mayor James is the type of man that will do anything once you squeeze hard enough.”

“If that’s so, then why haven’t you managed to ring him out yet? Is the juicer out of order?”

Ed crosses his arms. “No, It’s just that I’ve had other things to attend to. That’s all.”

Barbara smirks, as if she knows he’s lying. In all honesty, there was some truth in her assumption.

When he’d first visited James, claiming his rule of the Gotham underworld, he’d been all but brushed to the side. A few weeks and several deaths among his staff later, James had come around and kissed the ring, but Ed could tell that there was something that man was holding back, some piece knowledge he had yet to be worthy enough to know.

He couldn’t help but think back to his last visit to Arkham, when Jim had Strange confessing his crimes to the two of them. He’d thought long and hard about Strange’s behavior, and his excuses that he worked at the interests of a greater purpose. Having come a background of low standing, there was no way Strange could have funded the Arkham project alone.

A mysterious power that had a hold of Gotham’s politicians and scientists, but had no discernable connection to any crimelords. There was only one solution that fit all of the clues: a secret society, and one that had yet to be invited to at that.

Barbara leans in close. “You don’t know James, but you know me. If we work together, we’d both have a better chance at getting what we desire.”

Ed nods. “You are definitely smarter than James. It’d be much easier to execute my plans with someone that can actually comprehend them.”

“Plus,” she adds, looking to Oswald. “Once I’m in office, I’ll be able to provide you a legal certification of your sanity. No one would be able to challenge the stability of your club ever again.”

“Very well. We can start you off with one million.”

“One million? That’s nowhere near the amount I’ll need for a full campaign.”

“It’ll be enough to grab attention, but I’m you’ll need more once it becomes more serious. Perhaps we’d be willing to provide more if you stopped to listen to _our_ demands for once.”

Barbara purses her lips, leaning back against the bar. “ I suppose I could sweeten the deal for a couple of friends. Tell me,” she says, looking straight ahead at Ed. “What more would it take for me to get a bit more support from the two of you?”

“I want full access to any file I ask to see, and that includes the ones on the members of your staff. If one of my men is sent to the GCPD, I am to be informed and have full power to see them released upon my request.” Ed looks up at Oswald with a knowing glance. “Is there anything you’d like to ask of her?”

Oswald’s eyes widen in understanding. “Well, of course I’ll be happy to support you,” he says. “After everything that’s happened with the three of us, we’d love nothing more than to see you succeed in such hard times...Although, there is one thing that’s been looming over us for some time now.”

“I’d love to hear it.”

Oswald hesitates, fiddling nervously with his fingers. “When we left Arkham, I was sure that I saw Fish Mooney in that bus the others left in. Now, we’ve heard rumors from some of our associates that she’s been sited among some of the escapees.”

“What would you have me do?”

“Jim has demonstrated his proficiency at catching these sort of people. We’d ask that you send him out to find Fish, then bring her back to us.”

“Dead, preferably,” Ed adds.

“Or not.” Oswald shoots him a glare, before looking back to Barbara. “If you could bring her to the lounge alive and unharmed, I’d be most grateful. I’d like to see her again after all the time that’s passed.”

“...And give her a chance to get revenge on you for killing her in the first place? Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Oswald huffs. “As long as she’s secured properly, she shouldn’t be able to cause us any trouble. Once I have my talk with her, I’ll ask her to leave town, or at the very least leave us alone.”

“What if she refuses?”

“Then we’ll give her back over to Jim, and he can deal with her accordingly.”

“Jim would hand her over to the cops, which will only give her more time to be broken out and back on the streets, where she will stop at nothing to make her way back to the top. We’d be back to where we started-”

“...And Jim would be able to find her again. I have thought about this for a long time now. I’d like to see her again, even if it’s the last time I ever do. You know how important it is for me to get that closure. Just let me have this one thing. Please?”

Ed’s jaw locks, but Oswald continues to look at him with those pleading eyes.

“So what’s it going to be, fellas?” Barbara asks impatiently. “Do you want her dead or alive?”

“Bring her in alive,” he sighs. “Send me your campaign budget once you’ve found a manager. We’ll discuss payment then.” When he glances at Oswald, he’s met with a thankful smile.

Barbara raises her glass, and Ed does the same. “It’s a deal.”

Their glasses clink. Barbara down the rest of her cocktail, handing her glass to Lark with a wink and a coy smile.

“See you later boys,” she says as she gathers herself and heads out towards the elevator.

Oswald sighs. “Who would have thought she would become such a good friend?”

“She is not our friend,” Ed scoffs. “...And neither is Fish Mooney.”

Oswald wraps his arms over Ed’s shoulders, resting his head under his chin. “I know that you’re worried, but If there is even a chance that she could forgive me, I need to take it.”

“Well, your time has come. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

Oswald smiles, leaning over. Whatever he’d been planning to do, he doesn’t get the chance as Ed gets up from his seat.

“I have some business to attend to uptown,” he says as he adjusts his coat. “I’ll be back later tonight to pick you up.”

“Oh...business...right.”

When they had been in Arkham not even a year ago, Oswald had been more than willing to recite his own exploits, encouraging Ed to do the same. Now he always got squeamish when the subject itself was brought up with the utmost vagueness. It was rather discouraging, to say the least.

“Call me if you need me," he says, heading back to the service elevator and away from the stifling cold.

 

**.**

**.**

 

Even on a Wednesday night, the warmth of Gotham’s midsummer draws a sizable crowd to the cooled rooms of the Iceberg Lounge. Another successful evening passes by, with Zsasz seeing the few remaining guests out the door. He had taken surprisingly well to his new position as head of security. It seemed having a place where he could listen to music and potentially beat up unruly patrons all at once really worked out for him.

Oswald checks around the main room as the staff finishes with their cleaning. Only a few glasses had been broken

His eyes fall on the room’s trademark centerpiece, a marvelous sculpture that had been crafted from ice. It was the only feature of the lounge that held significant meaning to him, a reminder of his purpose in this world. It was his mother and father, locked together in the eternal embrace of dance.

“There's something I've been wanting to ask the two of you. Am I a good boy? Have I made you both proud?”

The statues do not give answer, their glassy visages as silent and still as ever.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

He sees Ed walking out of his office, looking worn out from his day.

“You’re back. How did it go?”

“Well enough,” he answers. Ed never elaborates, something he’s always glad for. He’s no doubt going to learn about in tomorrow’s paper, why go through the pain of hearing it twice? “I have the driver waiting for us out back, I figured you be done by now.”

“I am, I’m just thinking out loud.”

Ed stands to Oswald’s side, gazing at the statue himself. “The answer is yes by the way. You’re parents would definitely be proud of you.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Oswald, look at everything you’ve achieved. You’re a successful businessman, running one of the town’s most talked about nightclubs. What more could any parent want for their child?”

“Someone to share it with.”

Ed’s hand comes up to rest on his shoulder. “You have that, too,” he says with a warm smile.

“Not in everything, though.”

He hadn’t meant to say that aloud. Ed releases a frustrated sigh.

“Oswald-”

“Forget it, it’s not a big deal.”

“I’ve helped you in every way I could to get this place up and running.”

“You have, and I appreciate it, but I know it’s not what you wanted for us.”

“Well I’m sorry that I’m trying to run the organization that you refuse to acknowledge.”

“I’d rather you’d help me run the lounge.”

“The people I’m dealing with are criminals, people that will kill the both of us, given the proper chance. I can’t just stop and leave that behind to run a club, not after all the work I’ve put in to get there.”

“I know, I know” he sighs. “Please, I don’t want to fight about this again. Let’s go home, I’m tired.”

To his pleasant surprise, Ed lets it go with a huff. Once the staff has seen themselves out, Oswald turns off the lights, and the two of them head towards the back hall. They always use the service exit on busy nights, lest they be seen and further spread the rumor of the Riddler’s ownership of his club.

The elevator takes them down to the first floor, to the hall leading to the parking lot outside. Through the one way glass separating the hall from the lobby, they can see Zsasz and his girls dealing with the drunken stragglers. Many of the guests stumble out through the doors, while some daze stupidly at the decorum. Unlike the rest of the lounge, which had been modernized with sleek, icy fixtures, Ed had personally designed the lobby to reflect the art deco of Gotham’s roaring twenties.

“...And you say I don’t care about the business. How could you ever expect to to get any customers without such a grand entrance to draw them in?”

Oswald chuckles as he leans into Ed’s side. “There’s no denying that you have a refined taste of your own. My mother’s was the same way. I wish she had been able to meet you. I think she’d have liked you even more than my father had.”

“One can only hope.”

 

 


	24. -

 

 

When Ed finds the day’s paper sitting on the dining table that morning, he turns to the last page and tears the crossword out, leaving the remaining scraps for the maid to clean up. Normally he would love to to have something to read alongside breakfast, a welling sense of pride with every article written about the Riddler’s latest scheme. Over the last few days, however, the news had consisted of one thing and one thing only: Barbara Kean.

Gotham’s snap election had been called, giving them little more than a week to pull the citizens over to their side. They’d made posters, a quickly thrown together ad for the local channels, and had Barbara’s face plastered throughout the _Gotham Gazette_ with promises of a brighter future for Gothamites. Barbara herself had played her part well, taking any interview she could and giving a few speeches, all of which receiving praise, even from some of the more disparaging critics in town.

Jim had also been making the papers more than usual this week, as he had been able to track down a great number of escapees, no doubt as part of his hunt for Fish Mooney. He had not yet captured her, but from what Ed had heard from Barbara, he was getting close. Jim’s success would mean that she was at the brink of fulfilling her promise. If she was to hand him Fish Mooney, then he would have to start making good on promises of his own.

He heads into the kitchen, where he finds Oswald pouring something onto a paper plate.

“What are you doing?”

“I think we might have mice.” Oswald sets the box down on the counter, a package of rat poison. He holds his father’s monocle up to his bad eye as he examines the pellets with a grimace. “We need to get some better pesticides. All this stuff is fifty years old. For all I know, it’s all filled with DDT.”

“It’s not that old,” Ed says as he examines the bag himself. “No trichloroethane here. Just phosphides.”

“Well, whatever it is, I hope it’ll do the trick,” he replies, picking up a chewed open box of cereal and throwing it into the trash. “Until then, we’ll have to replace half our food and keep what’s left in the fridge.”

“I was just about to head out to the bakery anyways. I have a special order for today.”

“Oh? What’s the occasion?”

“I’m preparing a few gift baskets for the city council members. I figured they’d might be more open to our campaign with some special treats. I’m thinking a few cookies, some cakes, fifty grand in cash.” Ed smiles. “Y’know, just something to chew on.”

“You’re going to bribe them into voting for Barbara?”

“I prefer the term ‘persuade’, but yes. I’m also hoping they’ll all voice their support of her at meeting being broadcasted tomorrow.”

“Why? Jame’s approval ratings have plummeted since Barbara bashed him on live television. She already has most of Gotham on her side as is.”

“True, but I don’t want to take any chances. Besides, the last thing we need is to bolster her ego with knowing she could have won on her own. She’ll be ours to use as we see fit, but only as long as she’s under the impression that she needs us.”

Oswald shrugs. “If you want to waste hundreds of thousands on a sure thing, I guess I can’t stop you.”

“It’s more than that. By giving her this, we’ll be getting something from her in return.”

“I know how it works. Just because I’m no longer part of the underground doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to make deals-” Ed cuts him off as he places a finger over his lips.

“Let me finish,” he whispers, dropping his hand. “I know that you’ve been less than pleased by my lack of interest in the lounge, so I’ve been thinking of ways I can properly dedicate my resources to making it better. Political interest isn’t the only thing Barbara has to offer us. If she wins, she’ll want to throw a victory party, and what better place to do that than the town’s most talked about club?”

Oswald’s eyes widen as he pieces Ed’s words together. “We’re hosting her party?”

“We talked about it, and she’d like nothing more than to have you hosting her, alongside some of Gotham’s wealthiest, most famous residents. That is, if you want to.”

Oswald beams. “Of course I want to!” He wraps his arms around Ed’s chest, which Ed returns. “Do you know what this means? This isn’t just some catering event, this is a real, high class social. There will be reporters, and celebrities, a-and people of status. My club is going to make the papers, and not just as a hit piece!”

“You’re welcome,” Ed murmurs with a smile, nestling his head over Oswald’s as he continues his enthusiastic chattering.

“...And elections are tomorrow, aren’t they? Oh there’s so much I need to get done, the decorum, the food, the security. I need to start preparing immediately!”

“In that case, perhaps you should accompany me to the bakery. We could have them prepare some special desserts for the event. Maybe we can get away with some penguins if they’re discrete enough.”

Oswald pulls him down into an excited kiss. “You’re too good to me,” he whispers as he pulls himself away. “Give me a few minutes, I’ll get ready.”

He watches Oswald as he walks off to get dressed, thinking about the days to come. Things were definitely going to change, for better or worse he couldn’t say just yet. Hopefully, if everything goes according to his plan, today will be the start of something better for the both of them.

 

**.**

**.**

 

Barbara’s mornings over the last week have been filled with the controlled chaos of the election. Each day, she heads into the studio she’s rented out, answering the numerous questions of her election staff and interns. Unlike the stress shared among the people vigorously working to make sure her campaign was a successful one, Barbara herself took to it with the greatest of ease. After all, she was smart, educated and bred from the highest places society had to offer. The position as mayor wasn’t something she need to work for, rather she felt it something she was entitled to.

Of course she would play the same game as any other candidate would, but it was clear to anyone watching that she born to rule above all others. In interviews, she was sharp and concise, in her speeches, she knew all the right things to say to please her crowd. The people that would be walking into those polls booths tomorrow weren’t simply electing her, they were handing her what they all knew was rightfully hers.

On this morning, however, she finds herself, for the first time in this election run, having to get serious on her agreements made. The money that Ed had given her had been suitable for handling the superficial materials that got shoved down the throats of every news fan in town, but now that he’d pulled in extra favors on her behalf, the pressure on her to find him Fish was getting heavier by the moment.

Luckily for her, standing in the middle of the room as interns scurry around him is just the man she’s hoping to speak with.

“Jim. I’m glad you came.”

“You call me and I get paid, why wouldn’t I come?”

“Good morning to you too.” She greets him with a kiss. “What do you think?“

“Seems like things are pretty busy here, though I imagine you’re already planning your victory party.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a little confident,” she scolds, though it’s obvious Jim sees right through her. Sometimes she wonders where they’d be if he’d had that power when they first moved here, if they could have avoided the heartbreak and pain.

They retreat into her office. Her brow furrows as she finds an envelope waiting for her at her desk. There’s nothing written on the off-white paper. The only piece of identification is the seal, golden wax embossed with the visage of an owl. She shrugs, stowing it into her bag to read later before she turns her attentions back to Jim.

“So, how’s progress?”

“With what?” He asks in a snide tone. He hadn’t been all that overjoyed when she’d told him of Ed’s request. Nevertheless, he sighs as she gives him a warning look. “From what I’ve heard, Fish is sick and looking for the cure. Hugo Strange is the only one that might be able to do just that. There’s not a doubt in my mind that she’ll be heading his way.”

“...And you know where that is?”

“I managed to find the file on his confinement when I was last at the GCPD. There’s an abandoned mansion outside of town where they’ve been holding him.” His face pinches in disgust. “Apparently they’re also having him continue his work, but what else should I expect from those useless hypocrites?”

“How long before she finds him?”

“It’ll be soon with her resources. She’s already captured Peabody, so there’s no doubt she’ll be able to find him too.”

“Excellent. Do the police know about Peabody?” Jim nods. “Then they’re definitely going to be there too. It sounds like you’re going to need a distraction.”

“Did you have anything in mind?”

She fiddles with her entwined fingers as she thinks it over for a moment. “Send me the location, I’ll tip off the press. Then I’ll call an emergency rally for tonight and tell them that there’s been a leak to where Strange is being kept. That’ll give the cops something to do so you can sneak in and get her.”

Jim purses his lips. “Y’know, the police are also offering a million dollars for her capture. That’s good money.”

“...And I can double it. My newest benefactor has very specific demands for dealing with her, and I’d like to oblige him.”

“I don’t see why I should put myself out, just so Ed gets the comfort of knowing he still has a hold of the underworld.”

“You’re not doing this for him, you’re doing it for me, remember?”

Jim scoffs in response, but says no more as Barbara kisses him again, this time deeper and her hand laid delicately over his chest. When she pulls away, she looks deep into his eyes.

“Bring her to me, I’ll handle the rest.”

Even after the many months they’d spent together, rebuilding the relationship they’d once had, Jim still watches her with as much distrust as ever.

“I’ll do it for three million.”

She chuckles. What else would she expect? “Whatever you want, sweetheart. Just get it done.”

He walks away with his usual brevity, his shoulder knocking into Tabby’s as she walks into the office. The shoot each with the same passing glare, before he continues his way out of the building.

“Asshole,” Tabby mutters under her breath. “I don’t get why you still keep him around.”

Barbara scoffs. “If I was looking for an angel I’d get a dog. I don’t need him to be nice, I need him to get me Fish Mooney.”

“What’s the hurry?”

“Didn’t you hear? Nygma’s given us the vote and recommendation of every member of the city council. We’ve got this in the bag, baby...That is, unless we fail to bring him Fish and he sends his droogs to reclaim his money, but I think we’ve got that covered.”

“I said it before and I’ll say it again, you didn’t have to get him involved with this.”

“I know, but then again, what’s better than a landslide win?"

“So that’s all it takes? A little boost to your pride and you’re ready to play monkey for Nygma?”

“Only until he’s secured me my office. Once I’ve gotten my hands into city hall, I reckon I’ll have more to offer the other bosses than him. We’ll let him think he has control for now, and when the time comes for me to take control, he won’t know what hit him.”

Tabby shrugs her off, looking as grumpy, as is the usual these days.

“What’s going on with you? You’ve been so crabby lately.”

“I’ve been through elections before. Not exactly the best time of my life, way too much paperwork for my liking.”

“...But that’s not the only thing on your mind now is it?” Barbara asks with narrowed eyes. Tabby looks at her in confusion, as if she doesn’t already know what she herself been up to. “I got a phone bill last month that listed a collect call to Arkham. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

Tabby crosses her arms. “Maybe I do, so what?”

Barbara scoffs. “I think I deserve to have my opinion heard if you’re planning on breaking him out.”

“Woah, it was just a phone call. Who said anything about breaking him out?”

“No one had to say it, I can see it all over your dumb, love-struck face. All you’ve been thinking about the last month is breaking in there and running off with him. I swear the last time we were in bed, you almost said his name.”

“I did not.”

“You did! I very clearly remember you saying ‘Buh’ before you stopped yourself and tried to play it off as ‘Barbara’.”

For a moment it seems as if Tabby’s ready to snap back and bring this into full argument territory, but after a quiet consideration, her resolve breaks.

“Okay, so what if I like Butch? You’re really gonna lecture me on having feelings for more than one person?”

“Baby, I wouldn’t care if you were sleeping with everyone in a five mile radius. Were that the case, I’d happily ask if I could stay and watch. What bothers me is that the one person who’s caught your eye happens to be the guy I locked away Arkham and will no doubt kill me if given the chance.”

“You think I’d let him anywhere near you? What if I took him down south, at least long enough for him to avoid getting caught again? The two of could shack up at some hotel and...catch up.”

Barbara scoffs. “You think you’ll get a hotel down south, now, in the middle of August? Fat chance.”

“Actually, I’ve already arranged for it,” she admits. “I have a room waiting for us by the beach.”

“You’re really serious about him, aren’t you?” Tabby doesn’t say anything, but Barbara sees that look of determination in her eyes. She knows there’s nothing she’ll be able to do to change her mind on something she’s so clearly dead-set on, mentioning it had only been courtesy on her behalf. She sighs. “I don’t know how I’ll make it through the next few months without you.”

“I’ll think you’ll be just fine. In fact, I’d say this is a perfect opportunity for you.”

“What do you mean?”

”Pretend like I wasn’t doing this for Butch, think about what this could mean for you. If you want to break Nygma off from the gangs, you’re going to have to start breaking those foundations away. What better way to do that than to have his enemy back out on the streets?”

Barbara purses her lips. She has to admit Tabby has a point. Word of Butch’s release would definitely put him on edge, and given her own problems with Butch, she wouldn’t be as likely a suspect.

“You are lucky I’ve been feeling so negotiative lately. If you want him so badly, then you can have him, as long as you keep him far away from me.”

Tabby smiles, making to leave when Barbara clears her throat.

“I believe a ‘thank you’ in order.”

Tabby rolls her eyes, but nevertheless leans over to give her a kiss. “Thank you,” she says, pulling away. Before she has the chance to walk away gain, Barbara grabs her hand.

“Not so fast. I’m not letting you go back there just to break him out and nothing else. You are going to pick up something very important to me.”

 

**.**

**.**

 

“Have you heard anything yet?”

“Nothing,” Oswald answers as he flips through every news station available. Normally on a night like this, he’d be directing his staff through a busy work shift, but now the entire lounge was empty. He’d closed it early once they’d heard news of Fish Mooney imminent capture, choosing to keep his eyes glued to the television as he and Ed waited for any news. “They’re saying that a group of inmates have been captured and that Strange is still in his holdings.”

“What about Jim?”

“They haven’t mentioned him. I don’t see Barbara either.”

“She hasn’t called me,” Ed says, checking his phone for the tenth time. He huffs, pacing around the office. ”Well that confirms it, Fish Mooney got away,” he chuckles. “...And now she’s hiding away from us in her failure. Leave it to Jim Gordon to let that woman wriggle her way out of his sweaty palms.”

Oswald leans back into his chair, disappointed. “Well, perhaps they’ll be more successful next time.”

“After being so close to getting caught? No way. If anything she’ll be more elusive than she was before.” He pulls out his phone. “I’m gonna call Zsasz. I seems Miss Kean owes me a few million-”

Suddenly, a familiar voice calls out in the quiet.

“Knock knock, boys.”

They share a glance, Ed slowly snapping his phone shut as they make their way to the bar. They find Barbara, standing proud as ever. Jim isn’t with her, but she’s brought a few people along, shady looking citizens, dirty from the heat of the riot.

“Is it done?” Ed asks.

“See for yourself.”

Even before she steps out of the way, Oswald recognizes the red crop of hair hiding the face of the woman behind her. Two of the men are carrying her by the arms as her head hangs low. Her body is draped in a blue, silken fabric, more than fitting for the queen she had always presented herself as.

The man kneels Fish down to her knees, giving Oswald space to approach her.

“Fish?” He takes a few, tentative steps forward, hoping that she’ll look up at him. “It’s been a while since we last saw each other.”

She says nothing, head still bowed. _Does she even remember him_ , he wonders, _after everything Strange did to her?_

He kneels down to her, trying to find her face. However, her body begins to lean forward and he barely manages to catch her as she falls to the floor. Her head nestles into his chest, and he places his hand against her hair. It’s not soft like he expects, but wet and sticky. When he pulls his hand back, his eyes widen. He finds them stained dark red from where they had caressed her hair. He pulls back the tuft with shivering fingers, and gasps as he finds the freshly made bullet hole against her temple.

With a cry, he pushes himself away from her lifeless body, letting it fall to the ground with a thud.

“She’s dead!”

“As a doornail,” Barbara chimes, nudging the body with her foot. As Fish rolls over, her limp neck turns her head directly at Oswald, giving him a direct look into her unmoving eyes, still fiery with anger even in death.

“This-no this isn’t right,” he cries. “We had a deal. She was supposed to come in alive!”

Despite the clear lack of remorse in her actions, Barbara at least has the decency to look sympathetic. “I know, and I’m sorry, but you’re boyfriend gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

At that word, his heart stops in his chest, and the blood in his veins runs icy cold.

“Ed?”

“He called me after my visit, offered to ensure the vote of every council member if I put her out of her misery once and for all.”

He looks back to Ed, waiting for him to say otherwise, to tell her off for breaking their agreement. Instead he’s cool as ever, keeping his gaze stoic, as though he’d expected this.

“Good luck tomorrow, Mayor Kean.”

Barbara waves them off. “See you boys at the party,” she says, heading back to the elevator with her entourage and leaving him alone on the cold floor between Ed and the corpse of his old boss. For a while, neither of them speaks. Oswald waits, confused and panicked, trying to make sense of this, and finding none.

Eventually, Ed is the one to break the quiet. “I suppose this comes at a bit of a shock, but what choice did I have?” His voice devoid of anything that may resemble shame or even simple regret.

“How could you? You promised me I was going to see her again.”

“At what cost? Did you think she was really going to leave when you, the man who killed her, asked her to?”

“No, but... could you not have waited until after I talked with her?” He looks back on her lifeless face, remembering the days when he was still her trusted umbrella boy. “So much has changed since she died. All I wanted is to show her how much I’ve changed.”

“Oswald please. Do you think she cared about everything you’ve gone through? All she would do is take every opportunity to wear you down until you felt worse than ever before. I know you’re not stupid, you know sentimentalism leads nowhere.”

“ _Stupid_? Is it stupid to want to see the woman that taught me everything I knew? The woman that made me the man I was?”

“No of course not. You can see her. Take a look.”

He’s speechless, in every sense of the word. His mouth forms what could be the beginnings of words, but nothing comes from it. It’s as if all the air in his lungs had been suddenly sucked out of him. Even if he somehow managed to find his voice once again, how on earth is he supposed to respond to _that_!?

A sudden, unbearable rush of heat slams into him, as if his heart had started once more and boiled his blood into an inferno. As the pressure builds in his veins, his ears hum in response, joined by the dissonant chorus of voices, familiar to him yet far from his memory. When he’s finally able to make out their words amidst the chaos, he realizes they are all saying the same thing.

 _Kill_ ! _Kill_ ! _Kill_!

He searches out for the source of these voices, but the only one here with him is Ed. His eyes flick back to Fish’s body, and in that short moment that his eyes meet with hers, he could swear that she was smiling at him.

His hands clasp over his ears and he silently begs the voices to stop. His pleas are met with the ever growing shrieks demanding for death, accompanied by Fish’s laughter at how pathetic he is. His vision clouds, partially from sweat running down his forehead, and the rest on inky blackness that grows with every pulse of his veins.

He shuts his eyes trying his best to block out the commotion by centering himself on the dark shapes that dance against the darkness. The cocktail of cries and peal of laughter mixes into white noise, sound that his mind can easily numb out until all that’s left is a single tone that eventually fades away.

When the fervor finally breaks, he releases a breath, panting in relief as the pressure subsides. He snaps his head up, eyes meeting with Ed’s as the other man looks down at him. Ed doesn’t look worried or even ask him what’s wrong. Rather, he watches him with that curious gaze, as though he’s expecting something more from him.

Oswald doesn’t know what he’s waiting for, and he doesn’t care to find out. All of his attentions are focused back on those mismatched eyes staring up at him with their unbridled hatred. Twice now had he been responsible for Fish’s death, and as the final wisps of his episode pass by, he can see that she is certainly not smiling anymore.

He pushes himself up, straightening his jacket and wiping the sweat from his face.

“Excuse me, I...I have to go.” He turns away, walking to out to the hall. He doesn’t see the look of disappointment on Ed’s face as he leaves, nor does he hear him call his men to dispose of Fish’s body.

He walks past the elevator in favor of the stairs. The chilled air of the stairwell cools his skin and dries the tears that stream down his cheeks. Despite the pain that comes with each and every step, he prefers it to the thoughts that threaten to fill his mind and send him over the edge.

He doesn’t know where he’ll go once he reaches the lobby or even what he’s going to do next. The only instinct he allows himself to follow in this moment is the insufferable urge to leave.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof


	25. -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Okay, so I've had to edit this chapter quite a few times now. The first time, I uploaded the incomplete version, and the second, it just wasn't reading right to me. So if you're maybe re-reading this and wondering if it's not how you remembered it the first time, I apologize for the confusion.

 

 

It was already well into the afternoon and Oswald hadn’t caught a wink of sleep. He’d been too restless the night before, wandering the streets in aimless thought as he took in the events of that evening. He refused to go back to the mansion, unwilling to face Ed just yet. The mere thought of him brought on a bitter feeling that he never wanted to feel, not for Ed of all people.

When morning came and the regular, day-walking citizens were up and busy, he was able to duck into a few cafes, hoping to find some peace and quiet. Unfortunately, everywhere he went, he was met by the same buzzing excitement for the election. Everyone was talking about the much needed changes Barbara would bring to town, the occasional few mentioning the glowing support given by the city council on the morning news. Some old part of Oswald wanted to tell them about all the things she’d done to get there, but he  quickly snuffed it out. Why should she have to suffer for his own problems? So instead, he got up and left, each and every time.

It’d taken him several hours and five cafes until he’d found his way to the library. It seemed this place was the only one where he could sit in solitude to think. Even then, the silence would be broken by the occasional phone call from his staff. Barbara’s party was already being setup for that evening, despite the fact that the election wouldn’t be closed until late at night. It wasn’t as if she had any competition now that rumors of Fish’s death had made their ways through the streets.

By this point, there’s no hope for him to fit in a nap before he needs to be at the lounge. The best he can do for now is try to rest his eyes long enough to get through the night.

Some time in the midst of his moping, he hears footsteps approaching, followed by a woman’s voice. “Is there anything I can help you with, sir?”

“No, I’m fine.” He rubs his eyes, sitting up properly.  “Thank you asking…” When his head turns up to see the woman who’d asked after him so nicely, he has to do a double take. He recognizes the face looking down at him. He’d seen it a thousand times, taped to the wall in his cell back at Arkham.

He stands to his feet in a start, body shaking as he stares at the woman watching him with concern.

“Miss Kringle…”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re Kristen Kringle.”

“Um...no. My name is Isabella.”

“Are you a relative?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’ve never heard of anyone by that name.”

Oswald looks her over again. With blonde hair, an absence of glasses, and a sense of style that’s more sophisticated than Kringle’s, there’s enough difference to back her claim. Still, the delicate curves of her face matched exactly to the woman that once held Ed’s affections. It didn’t seem like she was lying, but there was no way this could just be some coincidence...could it?

“Are you alright, sir?” She asks, in a soft voice that almost puts him at ease. It makes him wonder if Kristen’s voice had sounded as nice.

“I-I’m fine.”

The bell to the front door rings, followed by the voices of a group of particularly loud kids.

She smiles. “Excuse me, I have some guests to attend to.”

He nods, leaving her to go scold the noisy children. As soon as her back is turned, he dashes into the bathroom a few feet away.

He tries to catch his breath as panic begins to set in. He can’t explain why he’s suddenly filled with this fear, and all because he saw some woman...a woman that shared more than a passing resemblance to Ed’s ex-girlfriend. His frantic mind travels to places that shouldn’t exist, scenes where Ed and this woman are held in each other’s arms, leaning into one another as they share a passionate kiss.

He turns on the sink, splashing cold water over his face. As he sees his haggard and tired eyes in the mirror, he has to chuckle at himself. He’s been up all night, no wonder he’s having these ridiculous thoughts. The part of his brain that’s somehow managed to retain some sense of rationality tells him how silly he’s being. There’s no way that he was going to lose Ed to that woman, they’d never even seen each other before.

“ _But what if he does see her_?”

He whips his head around, eyes searching for the source of the voice that had echoed against the tile walls. He’d heard it clear as day, as if was spoken directly into his ear, and yet there was no one in sight.

“Hello?” He calls out, kneeling over to look through the stalls. He finds nothing, the room empty save for himself.

“ _What are you going to do about it_?”

His neck snaps back to the mirror in front of him. He gasps as he finds his mother standing behind him in the reflection. She’s no longer the ragged ghoul he’d last seen in Arkham. Her face is exactly how he remembered, bright and loving.

“I thought you were gone.”

She smiles. “ _Oh my darling boy_ , _I would never leave you_.”

“But you did, y-you left me when I was being tortured, all because I wouldn’t let you control me anymore.”

Her eyes shift around in guilt, tears welling at their corners. “ _I didn’t want to_ , _but you gave me no other choice_ . _I just couldn’t stand to hear you say those things to me_ , _and for what_ , _so that you try to fit in with the people that hurt you_ ? _I’m tired of seeing you so weak_!”

“ _I agree_.”

A second voice, one that he knows very, very well. He turns around, unable to find his breath as he finds his former boss standing next to him in his mother’s place.

“F-fish...you’re here too?”

“ _Well_ , _technically I’m buried six feet under somewhere just outside the city_ ,” Fish smirks. “... _But_ _I suppose I have time to manage you and your brooding_.”

He looks back and forth between the woman standing before him, head slowly dropping into his hands. “This can’t be happening.”

“ _Oh_ , _but it is_ . _You wanted us to talk_ , _and boy do I have thing or two to say to you_.”

He steps back as Fish comes closer. In the mirror, he sees his mother walking in tandem, a perfect reflection of Fish’s movements.

“ _I didn’t take you under my wing_ _and die by your hand just to watch you turn into such a pansy ass_.”

“Fish, please.”

“ _No_ !” The unnatural boom of her voice shocks him, knocking him to the floor as he slips on his own feet. “ _I refuse to stand by while some goodie-goodie punk tarnishes my legacy_ . _I practically handed you my crown_ , _and you threw aside like an ungrateful brat_.”

“Stay back! Or I-I…”

“ _You’ll what_ ? _Scream_ ? _Piss yourself_?”

“ _Oh_ , _just like he always used to when he was little boy_ ,” his mother chuckles from behind the glass. “ _He could never use the bathroom at school_ , _too scared that the bullies would trap him there_. _Every day he’d come home,_ _completely soiled_!” Her snickering grows into full blown laughter which Fish joins in to. That awful feeling bubbling beneath his skin returns, as does the pain that follows, and he knows he needs to get away.

It doesn’t take long for the laughter to grow to hellish proportions, the two women nearly doubling over. He sees his opening and takes it, rushing out of the bathroom door and leaving the ghosts cackling behind him. Once he’s certain the hateful specters are left behind, he falls back onto one of the sofas to catch his breath. His arm falls over his face as he wipes away the sweat beading above his brow.

Seven months. It’d been seven months since he’d heard the voices. He’d thought that Strange’s work, as insane as it had been, had at least cured him. For so long now, he thought himself freed from the demons that held him in the past, but now they were back at full force.

 _Why?_ He thinks. He’d made nothing but but progress since he left Arkham, following his father’s wishes exactly as he would have wanted. _What’s changed?_

“Sir…”

He pulls his arm away, eyes meeting with those of the rather perturbed librarian.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

Whatever it is, he can’t let it get to him, not after everything he’s been through.

“Yes,” he nods, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ll be heading out now.”

He walks out of the library with as much propriety as he can manage, making sure not to look back, lest he catch another glance of of the many faces that haunt the place. His only solace is knowing that he is nowhere close to being the man those demons want him to be. He is a man of high esteem, one who, in only a few hours, will be the owner of the most famous club in all of Gotham, hosting the city’s highest of elites with full pride and publicity. It was a feat not even the late, great Fish Mooney had that to brag about.

He straightens his coat out, puffing out his chest. What kind of message would he send if he looked his worst on the best night of his life? There’s no time for him to mope now, he has a party to attend.

 

**.**

**.**

 

Jim scanned over the check given to him by the station’s receptionist, made at the expense of the last remaining escapees. It was decent money, enough to get him through the next couple of months as he figured out where to go next. Barbara had suggested an early retirement, or at the very least making her his head of security, but he declined to both. There was more he could still do before his luck caught up to him and finally put him out of his misery.

“Hey Jim.”

That voice stops him in his tracks, the one he’s dreamt about for many nights over the past months. For a moment he thinks he’s surely imagined it, but when he turns around, the face he sees is just as real and beautiful.

“You’re here.”

“I am,” Lee says with that smile that melts the thin layer of ice in his heart.

“I thought that you were staying down South with your family.”

“I was for a while, but I got a call from Barnes saying the station still needed a medical examiner and...I don’t know. Something told me that I needed to be here, that I belonged.”

“This place has missed you, Lee.” _So have I._ “I can’t say I’ll you around too much, I’m uh, not really sporting the badge anymore.”

“I know, Harvey told me when I came back.”

“When was that?”

“Not long, two days ago.”

“Ah.” No one had told him she was in town, that she was even coming back. Then again, who was there to tell him? “What else has he told you about me?”

“Nothing I haven’t been able to read about in the papers. Sounds like you’ve turned into a real hero around here.”

“Exaggerated storytelling I assure you.” They both chuckle, though neither of them can escape how awkward this is. Six months it'd been since he's last seen her, no letter, no phone call, as if she'd disappeared from his life forever. In truth there’s nothing more he wants right now than to get away, keep that comfort of familiarity away, before he loses it once more.

“It’s good to see you again, Lee. I should get going.”

“Wait.” Before he can even move a step, he feels the warmth of Lee’s hand pulling him back, her touch sticking him to his spot. She takes a deep breath. “I know that this is really sudden, but I was hoping that we might find some time to talk...about us.”

Jim swallows. He supposes he should wait for the right time to bring it up, but when the hell would that ever be? Why not just get it right out of the way? “I’m seeing someone.”

“...Oh.” Her hand drops away, it takes all his restraint not to grab it back.

“I’m sorry.”

Lee shakes her head. “What’s there to be sorry about?” She asks with a small smile. “We both took some time apart, and in that time you found someone else. I can’t blame you for that. I saw other people too.”

That small, hypocritical part of his mind reels at the thought of Lee with another man, but he knows it had to have been for the best. They’d gone through almost everything their relationship could, and in the end, he couldn’t deliver. She deserved to have that life, even if he couldn’t join her in it.

He wants to tell her that he’s happy for her, even if it’s not the full truth, when they’re interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Hey partner. How’s it going?”

Jim sighs as Harvey walks down from the mezzanine. “I’ve been better.”

“Figured you’d be at the Iceberg Lounge by now.”

“I hadn’t been planning on it, actually.”

Lee looks between them, confused. “Why would you be at Penguin’s lounge? Isn’t Barbara’s victory party going on there?”

“Yeah it is,” Harvey answers. “Kind of pathetic not be at her side at a time like this. Then again, I would touch that if she were the queen of England, so who am I to judge?”

Jim narrows his eyes at his former companion. He’d been more than vocal about his relationship with Barbara, warning him one too many times that she would betray him one day, as if he didn’t already know that himself. At least with her, it wouldn’t come with shock and heartbreak.

“Always good to see you, Harv.”

“Likewise.” He stalks off, leaving him alone again with Lee who, by the growing look of horror on her face, has pieced their conversation together.

“You and Barbara...you can’t be serious.”

“You just said it didn’t bother you.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think we were talking about Barbara Kean. I mean, what the hell Jim, she’s completely insane.”

“No, she’s not. Of all the people that Strange held at Arkham, she was the only one he released on her own merit. She’s conniving and ruthless, but not insane.”

“Wow, that’s reassuring.”

Jim grits his teeth. “You know what, I don’t have to listen to this anymore, because I don’t work here anymore.”

Lee scoffs. “Well, I’m so sorry you don’t like my advice on not dating the woman who literally tried to kill you.”

“Whatever, I’ve got my money, I’m done with this.” He turns away, storming out toward the main door. “See you around, Lee.”

He hears Lee call his name behind him, but he doesn’t listen. He doesn’t need yet another person only there to tell him how much he’s fucked up. Especially not Lee. It’s not her business, not anymore.

Still, he can’t help the heaviness he feels in his chest. He can’t deny the many nights he’s woken up in Barbara’s bed, wishing to find someone else in her place. Now that Lee’s back again, he knows that ache will only grow, the pain of hope that he doesn’t need right now.

His only solace is knowing that it won’t be following him for that much longer. He couldn’t explain how or why, nor was he one to believe in anything beyond the simplicities of intuition, but he felt in his gut that something big was happening. Whether he’d see it through or not was not his problem. He’s made his bed, he’s ready to lie in it.

 

**.**

**.**

 

The Iceberg Lounge is packed to the brim that evening, the most it’s ever been, even on opening night. The guests that had been invited only accounted for a small portion of the crowd, the rest was filled with journalists, taking any chance they could to interview their esteemed company.

“Get me an appletini,” Ed tells the server, squeezing his way through the crowded bar. As he waits for his drink, he glances around at the work that’s been done to the club over the last few hours. Silver streamers had been tastefully draped along the walls, hanging down like icicles and glittering brightly against the lights. Raven and Lark were busy passing out the cooled ceviche that had been prepared for the evening, a welcome reprieve from the summer heat. The biggest feature of the evening was ice sculpture carved in Barbara’s image, displayed at the front entrance so that everyone could see. Every compliment to the detailing and delicacy of the ice was another piece of kindling to stoke her burning narcissism. There was no doubt she was loving it all with every passing second.

Every so often, he catches a few of the guests taking their glimpses of him, hoping he doesn’t notice. He always does, appreciating every single one of them.

He looks back to the bar expecting to find his appletini made. Instead he finds the new girl, Jay or whatever, too busy staring at him to prepare his drink.

He snaps his fingers, breaking her out of her daze. “Hello? Appletini.“

“Y-yes sir,” she stammers, pulling the apple schnapps from the cupboard.

He rolls his eyes at her incompetence, turning his attention to the other end of the bar, where the woman of the hour speaking to the night’s entertainment.

“Y’know I’ve never really believed in hypnotism myself, but from what I’ve heard, you’re the real deal. Maybe you’ll be the one to finally convince me.”

“I look forward to doing just that, my Lady Mayor. In fact, if you’re willing, I’d like to to put you under for tonight’s show.”

“I hope it won’t be anything too embarrassing, what with all these people around.”

“Yes, it is quite the crowd,” Tetch remarks, observing the guests. “I’m surprised that James Gordon isn’t here tonight. I’m so used to seeing his name in the papers, I’d assume he’d follow the press.”

“When we first came to Gotham, I would have said you were absolutely right. These days, however, he’s not so fond of it. Now that all of those monsters have been accounted for, I suppose he’ll disappear entirely.”

“Sounds like he has plenty of free time on his hands. I find myself in need of someone with his his skillset, if you know how I could contact him-”

“Unfortunately it seems he’s moved on from the business. His last few bounties had a fairly high payout, enough for him to consider a vacation, if not retirement.”

“Oh. What a shame.” Tetch looks down in disappointment, before offering her a tight smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready for my show.”

As Tetch walks off, Ed hears the barmaid clearing her voice behind him. “You’re drink, sir.” She hands him the cocktail, and he takes a sip. Decent, but nothing worth the time he had to wait for it.

He walks himself down the bar, taking the seat next to Barbara’s. “Is it true what you said?”

“Ed. I’m surprised to see you walking about.”

“Is it true?” He asks again. “Is our good pal Jim really ready to leave this all behind?”

“Oh of course not, I just didn’t want that creep contacting him,” she shudders. “Jim’s thinking about moving on to the PI business.”

Ed scoffs. “Was three million really not enough for him?”

“It might have been, had he kept any of it. He sent it all off to a bunch of charities, y’know, after calculating out taxes and all that.”

“Did he, now?” Giving off Ed’s hard earned money to the poor. _Well played Jimbo._ “Where’s Tabitha? I didn’t see her come in.”

“Oh she’s off somewhere for the night, I didn’t care to ask.”

“I specifically requested her to be here,” Ed hisses.

Barbara gives him a look. “That was serious? You do know she stabbed Gertrud Cobblepot, right? He’d be furious.”

“Exactly, can’t you call her in?”

“Why?”

There’s a small applause coming from the front of the lounge that draws his attention. He realizes it’s already too late as he sees Oswald staggering in through the entrance. He was already weary after yesterday’s mishap, now it seemed he’d really have to throw himself into full gear if he any hope of salvaging his plan.

Once he’s passed through the hoard of reporters demanding an interview, Oswald eventually makes his way over to Barbara.

“There she is!”

“Ozzie!” She pulls him into a quick hug. “Glad you finally decided to show up.”

“Sorry I’m late. Congratulations on the win, as if any of us expected any different.”

“And congrats to you on setting up this party. You’ve really pulled out all the stops.”

“No doubt they’ll be talking about in the Gazette for the next week, if not the whole month,” Ed adds, clinking his glass to Barbara’s.

At Ed’s words, the smile slips away from Oswald’s face. “You’re here...Oh my god, you’re here.”

“I am.”

“Y-you’re out in the open, with all of these reporters and their cameras walking around. What are thinking?!”

“I was thinking I’d enjoy our victory. Why don’t you have a drink, if the bartender could be bothered to do her job-”

“No!”

The crowd is large enough that barely anyone is privy to overhearing their conversation, but the few that are glance over with their troubled stares. Oswald straightens himself out, chuckling nervously as he pulls Ed out of his seat. “Excuse us.”

They shuffle over to the office. Oswald pushes him into the room before slamming the doors shut behind them.

“Why did you do that?” He demands.

Ed shrugs. “It looked like everyone was having fun, I thought I’d join in.”

“You and I had one rule for the club, don’t come out during business, and on the most important night for business you just...just,” he grumbles to himself, tugging his hair with nervous hands. “Don’t you realize what will happen when those reporters get back to work, what they’ll say? If people hear the Riddler was at the Iceberg Lounge-”

“So what if they hear? Did you really think that any of those people out there weren’t criminals? Hell, I’ve done business with at least half the room in the last month,” Ed laughs, downing the rest of his drink. “And I’ll tell you another thing. Before I even bothered stepping out there, I spent my afternoon listening in to our illustrious guests on the security tapes, and guess what, it doesn’t matter if I’d been there or not, because they all still hate you!”

Oswald freezes at the harsh words. “No, that’s not...no one’s said anything about me or the club since we’ve opened.”

“Of course not, why would they? It’s old news, nothing left for those media sharks to go after. They swarm and swarm, then once everything’s been eaten up, they just move on to the next rotting corpse. You may think it’s over now that they’re gone, but all that’s left of you is the bones sticking out of the sand, for the bottom feeders to pick at.”

He watches Oswald shuffle over to the door, peeking out at all the people enjoying themselves at his own expense. “Were they really talking about me? About my past?”

Ed nods. “Every one of them.”

Oswald slowly pushes the door shut again, knuckles white as his fingers clench into a fist. He sits at his desk in numb silence, head falling into his hands. “All I wanted was for people to treat me differently, to _see_ me as something better than what I was. Is that so much to ask?” He breaths out a watery sigh. “I have so much that I want to give them. Why can’t they just forget about the past for this one night and take everything that I have to give?”

Ed almost feels bad, seeing how put out the man before him is. Still, he can’t turn back now. It has to be done, now or never.

“Because you will never be anything other than what you are.” He places his hand beneath Oswald’s chin, tilting his head up with his fingers. “People don’t forget, Oswald. You can give them whatever they want, and they will take it without thinking anything of it. It doesn’t matter how many businesses you open or charities you run. They will always look at you and see that pathetic little man with the crooked leg that killed people, and not you or your father’s money can do anything to change that.”

For a moment, Ed is sure that Oswald is going to yell at him. He watches the patches red spreading across his cheeks, the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he huffs. For that moment, Ed’s sure he’s broken through whatever wall that had shelled him away, the essence of victory riding at the tips of his fingers.

However that anticipation is snuffed out as quickly as it came, not by the rage he’d been hoping for, but with a quivering lip chased down by tears.

“You’re _crying_?”

“What else am I supposed to do,” Oswald hiccups, wiping his nose with his tear-stained jacket. “I don’t understand what I’ve done to deserve this. What is I’ve done to make you say such awful things to me? Are you trying to break my heart?”

“Oh shut up!”

Oswald freezes, his eyes widening in fear as Ed stands over him in fury.

“You’re not supposed to cry, you’re supposed be angry!”

“I don’t...understand,” he gasps, trying his best to hold back his tears.

“What is there to understand? Be mad! Start shouting! Go kill one of the guests, anything!”

None of those things happen. Instead, Oswald watches him in dumbfounded silence as he desperately tries to stifle the sobs racking his body.

Ed sighs in frustration, readjusting his glasses as he kneels down to the chair. “What did Strange do to you?”

“I’ve already told you I don’t remember,” he sobs.

“Try to, for me.” He places his hands on Oswald’s face, gazing deeply into his eyes. “Think back on what happened when he had you locked up in the basement.”

“I...I can’t,” he stammers, wiggling his head in Ed’s grasp. “Please, it hurts too much.”

“Listen to me, I cannot fix this if you won’t help me. Think.”

Oswald’s eyes shift around as his lids fall shut. Ed watches quietly as the face in his hands slips away. It’s the same thing he always sees. Physical pain, the veins in his face popping and pulsing beneath his flesh. Something inside him is clawing its way throughout his skin, begging to be released again. Oswald hisses at the pain, hands clawing at Ed’s, desperate to get away. But Ed won’t let him go, not now, not this time not when he’s so close…

But then it recedes again, just as it always does. Oswald releases a sigh of relief as the bubbling, black veins disappear once more. His head relaxes in Ed’s grasp, and he looks up at him with those pitiful, tear-filled eyes. Whatever is living inside him, it will never come to light, not as long as he’s holding it back.

Ed sighs, his hands dropping to the side in defeat. _Once you’ve lost it, you can never be rid of it_ , that’s how the riddle was meant to go. In Oswald’s case, it seemed his temper was beyond lost, it was extinguished, and no flame no matter how strong would be able to relight it again.

He can’t look at this anymore.

“Nevermind,” he sighs. “I’m going home. Enjoy your party.” He pulls his coat on, pushing the bookshelf into his office and heading out to the elevator. He’s half way down the hall when he hears the shuffling behind him.

“Ed,” Oswald calls after him. He turns around, waiting quietly as Oswald tries to speak over his sob-choked voice. Once he finds himself again, there’s only one thing he can bring himself to say.

“I’m sorry.”

Ed nods. “I know. That’s the problem.” With a click of the button, he steps into the elevator and leaves this night and all its disappointments behind him.

 

**.**

**.**

 

Getting into Arkham is easier than it’d been when Strange was in charge. The inmates were all running around as the guards chased them down, too busy having fun with their own insanity to even think of leaving. She had to say, it wasn’t too bad of a system for keeping them all in. Keeping her out? That was another story.

She follows the hall down, past the corner, to the second cell on her right. Through the bars, she sees the form of a man lying motionless on the cot. She unlocks the doors, the sound jostling him awake as he turns to her.

“Tabby?” He asks, his voice raspy and weak.

She walks over, sitting to side and placing a hand to his scruffy cheek. “Hey Butch.” She helps pull him up to his feet, holding his hand as she guides him through the halls.

"This ain't the exit," Butch mutters as he realizes they've gone deeper into the building.

"No. We're not leaving just yet."

It takes her a few more hallways before she finds what's she's looking for, a room numbered as 315. She pushes through the frosted, glass doors, heading straight for the record cabinet waiting behind the desk. It doesn't take her long to find the box for 'N', unlocking it with a small knife she's hidden under her coat. Pulling the door out to its full extent, she finds the file she's seeking stuffed away at the back. She pulls it out from the manila mess, finding it lacking the bulk of paperwork she'd expected. Barbara wouldn't be pleased with such little to work with.

Suddenly Butch's hand clamps tightly on her shoulder. She turns, finding one of the guards standing at the entrance. Just as she's readied her whip, he holds out his hands in defense.

"Don't hurt me, I ain't gonna fight you." He looks from her to Butch. “I’m guessing this is part of some scheme to knock Riddler off his throne.”

“That’s one reason,” she replies.

“Good,” he growls. “That piece of shit killed my friend. He deserves whatever he's got comin' to him."

Butch huffs. "If you wanted Nygma gone, then why not let me out yourself?"

“Me? If I let him out, I’d be a dead man for sure. But if it’s her, who’s to say I had anything to do with it?”

His hand reaches into his back pocket, revealing out a small box of cassette tapes.

"I found these when I was snoopin' 'round the basement, in a file kept the Professor's second office. Riddler don't know nothin' 'bout these."

Tabitha lowers her whip, stepping towards the guard and pulling the box from his hands.

"Thank you," she says with an appreciative smile. His eyes widen as she raises her knife to his throat “But you were a dead man the from moment you betrayed Butch in the first place.”

“Wait-!”

A single slice and his body drops to the floor. She'd love nothing more than to toy with him awhile longer, but sadly has no time to waste on the man bleeding out below her. Somewhere outside, the wail of a siren sounds off her cue to leave. She stuffs the tapes under her coat, before grabbing Butch and guiding him away from this place for good.

 

 


	26. -

 

 

The incessant ticking of the clock outside of Barbara’s office is driving him crazy. He tries to block it out with the other sounds echoing through city hall, but in the middle of lunch hour, the building is near silent. One of his men is sitting nearby, working as his personal guard for the day. He supposes he could try talking to him, but there’s no way the man’s intelligent enough to hold a real conversation. He can’t help himself as he begins counting the seconds, each tick adding to the ever growing bubble of annoyance in his chest.

He’s almost counted to one hundred when the secretary finally emerges from the door. “Mayor Kean will see you now.”

He stands, stretching himself out as he instructs his man to wait outside. When he enters the office, he finds Barbara sitting at her desk writing away, an evening gown hanging nearby. She doesn’t even glance up at him as Ed takes his seat.

“I thought you’d learned by now that I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Well excuse me, but some of us have better things to do than tending to your surprise visits. I’ve been busy preparing my speech for the Founders Dinner tonight. Do you know how infuriating it is writing praise for those pompous asses, just to get them on your good side?”

“I know the feeling. Maybe if you spent this much time trying to find Butch, we’d have had him back in Arkham by now.”

She groans as she finally looks up from her work. “Is that why you’re here? I’ve already got all of the people I can get looking for him, what more do you want?”

“He’s been missing for two weeks now and you I expect me to believe that your people have found nothing yet?”

“As if you’re one to talk. Didn’t you say you had your finest combing the streets for him? Why haven’t you found him yet if you’re so concerned?”

“My territory ends with the city limit, you’re the one with constituents that can go beyond that. You think it’s not the least bit suspicious that you haven’t heard anything from him or Tabitha? Or perhaps you have and you’re just not telling me.”

Barbara grits her teeth at the accusation, fingers tightening around her pen.

“You can’t honestly think I’m glad he’s out there somewhere. He’s just as much of a threat to me as he is to you, and even if he wasn’t, I’d still have his head. That son of a bitch stole Tabby from me. I will not rest until I’ve gotten my hands on him.” She huffs in frustration, but after a quick pause, she shakes it from her system. “You should come to the dinner with me. We’ll have more time to talk about it there, plus I won’t have to face those bougie idiots by myself.”

“Why don’t you just take Jim with you, isn’t that what he’s there for?”

“Oh he’s been grumpy ever since the election, although I suppose it probably has more to do with this.” She passes him one of the files laid out at her desk, one that reads _Leslie Thompkins_ on the label. The first page he opens up to in a contract signing her back into the role as the GCPD’s medical examiner.

“This wouldn’t happen to be you attempting to place a hit on Dr. Thompkins would it?” He asks, giving her a look that she returns with a coy smile.

“It might be. Maybe we we could discuss it more over dinner.”

“Unfortunately, I already have plans with Oswald,” he grumbles, placing the file back on the desk. “We’re staying in for the night to have dinner together.”

“It doesn’t sound like you’re overly excited for that. Perhaps you two should reschedule it if your having a mood.”

“I’m not having a mood,” he snaps. “I’m reasonably annoyed by the fact I’m expected to have a nice dinner with him when neither of us have spoken a word to each other for days. Besides, I can’t reschedule it. We’ve been planning this for two months now, I’ve already put everything else on hold until tomorrow.”

“Okay, you have got to tell me what is going on with you two,” Barbara says, pushing her work to the side and leaning in close. “Not even a month ago you were all smiles and rainbows and now it’s like you can’t stand to think of him. If we’re going to be in business together, I need to know what you’re dealing with.”

Ed purses his lips together. “For the record, if you were anyone else asking, I would take this opportunity to teach a thing or two about minding your own business...But right now you’re the only person I can actually talk to about this, and if I don’t tell someone I think I’ll actually go insane.”

She leans back into her chair. “I’m all ears.”

“When we were in Arkham, Oswald would have these violent outburst, sometimes several times a day. As his friend, I advised him to hone in that anger and use it when necessary, if only to keep him from getting himself killed…”

“And now he can’t get angry at all,” she concludes. “We’ve all seen him, Ed. Poor thing couldn’t kill a mosquito if it bit him on the nose.”

“I don’t know what Strange did to turn him into this, but I know that he used me to do it. He never cared about treating me, he only kept me around long enough for him to become attached to me. When I left, he must have used that to do something to Oswald’s psyche, but he can’t remember anything that happened to him. If I hadn’t gotten involved, none of this would have happened. I even let him meet his father, what a disaster that was. Hell, for all I know, maybe that old bastard was in on it. I bet he’d love to see what kind of goodie goodie he’s turned his son into.”

“In laws,” Barbara chuckles to herself. “I’ve been lucky so far. All mine are dead.”

“Lucky for you in deed, if anything it saved you the trouble of getting the job done yourself. They’re all better off that way.”

If Barbara looks at him with a sheen of suspicion to her eyes, Ed doesn’t pay it any mind as he continues.

“I was so sure that seeing Mooney dead would stir him up again, but he just walked it off like it was just some tiff. Then I tried to remind him of his old life and the reason he joined the gangs in the first place. None of it’s worked. He’s still not getting angry, and now he won’t even talk to me. Ever since the party, he’s just been moping around the house. Some days he’s so hopeless he won’t even visit the lounge.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

That had been the question lingering in his mind for some time now, the answer quite simple, but not one he had hoped for. So long now he’d been denying the truth in his situation, but now it was too plain for him to see otherwise. It wasn’t the solution he wanted, but now it was the only option he had left.

“I can’t keep pretending that he’s ever going to be himself again. I played a game and I lost. Strange broke him, and I can’t put the pieces back together again. If either us want to be happy again, we aren’t doing it together.”

Barbara’s eyes widen at the omission. “You’re breaking up with him? That’s harsh.”

“It’s necessary. I have waited six months for him to get over himself, and nothing’s come out of it. I’ve given him everything I can to help him through this, but it’s never enough, and I don’t think it ever will be. I’ll leave him the lounge, of course, and the manor. I can use the house in the city to hold meetings. At the very least, he won’t have to worry about any more bad publicity from me. He’ll be happier on his own.”

“You know he’s going to be heartbroken a good while before that happens.”

“I know,” Ed nods.”...But it will happen eventually.”

 

 

 

The Founder’s Dinner is exactly as Barbara expected it to be, false extravagance painted over a crowd of peons pretending to be something better than what they were. There’s an overwhelming scent of perfume and cologne pervading the room as the wannabe elites of Gotham all mingle with each other, smiles as false as they’re personalities. Many of them introduce themselves to her, though she never bothers to remember their names. Luckily for her, they’re sole concern for their social standing means most of them leave her alone as they attempt to secure their placement among one another.

Once she’s found herself in a unoccupied corner of the room, she pulls out her phone and dials Tabby’s number, waiting until receiver takes her to voicemail.

“Hey, babe. Just checking in to make sure you and your loverboy are all settled in. Ed still thinks I’m mad at you, or if he doesn’t he’s too caught up in his own bullshit to deal with it. I’ll tell you all about that later. Either way, it looks like you two are in the clear for now. Give me a call back when you can. Kisses.” She smooches into the receiver before clicking her phone off.

As she stuffs it back into her clutch, a older woman approaches her. “Barbara Kean. It’s pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Remind me of your name again,” she says, shaking the woman’s hand.

“Kathryn Monroe,” she replies, and Barbara gapes.

“As in _the_ Monroe’s, one of Gotham’s oldest families?”

Kathryn smiles. “You know your history. I expect nothing less from a woman of your breeding.”

“Well, this is an honor. Tell me, is there anyone else of such high esteem that I should know about? Everyone else I’ve met here have been politicians or corporate mooches.”

“Most of the old families don’t attend these sort of things, it’s far too humdrum for our taste. I’m only here to speak with you, to inquire as to whether or not you received our note.”

The part of her brain that had fallen asleep after the third idiot of the evening that tried talking with her suddenly lights up again as the little envelope left on her desk only a few weeks ago returns to her memory.

“I have. You said you wanted to welcome me into your organization, but you never mentioned what that was.”

“That’s because there is not much I can tell. All you may know for now is that we oversee all things that matter to Gotham and her protection. We’ve had our eye on you for some time now, even before you were planning on becoming mayor. Despite your less than favorable past, you’ve demonstrated your capabilities to uphold this city to our standards. We’d be more than pleased if you considered a place for yourself among us.”

“An invitation to become part of a secret group that looks over Gotham? How do I sign?”

“In order to be formally inducted, we need a gesture from you, something to show that you are willing to do what must be done in order to keep Gotham from falling into chaos. There are certain people in this city that have disrupted the order we wish to uphold for our citizens, people we need removed from the system.”

“By certain people, I suppose you’re referring to Nygma and his parade of goons,” Barbara guesses, and the woman’s silence is telling enough. “Be that the case, then you’ll be happy to hear I’m already working on it.”

“And I look forward to hearing about it. We’ll keep in touch.” With that the woman heads back into the room, swallowed up by the crowd. For a moment, Barbara considers following after her, but soon realizes she's already lost sight of her figure in the sea of smarm filling the room. It doesn't matter anyways, as long as everything falls according to plan, they'll surely be seeing each other quite a number of times. so instead, she paints the visage of innocence and and gratitude back onto her face and returns to the swarm of clueless fools flitting about her.

 

**.**

**.**

 

At six fifty seven that evening, Ed pulls the lamb chops out of the oven. A quick check with the thermometer places the meat at an optimal temperature for eating, giving him plenty of time to add the last bits of seasoning.

Once the lamb is done, he carries it into the dining room, placing it at the center of the table. He checks his watch, seven o’clock on the dot, the exact time that they had decided to meet for dinner.

Ed glances around the table, satisfied with his work. The side dishes are all laid out nicely, and he’s placed a few candles to help light the room in addition to the fire. If this is going to be their last dinner together, he wants it to be special, hopefully enough to soften the blow.

However, with his tasks all finished, it’s then that he realizes that something’s missing, or rather someone.

“Oswald?” He calls out, waiting for a reply. There isn’t any, and he’s sure he would have noticed him when he returned from work.

He checks his phone. The last text he’d received from him was a simple ‘okay’ when he’d asked if he would go out to get them some wine for their meal. That had been hours ago, more than enough time for him to drive into town and back.

He checks the time again, seven o’ one.

“Where is he?”

 

 

 

Oswald can’t say how long he’s been staring at the green bottles laid out on the racks, but in the few moments he breaks from is wallowing, he realizes that he’s definitely going to be late for dinner. Perfect. Now isn’t that exactly what he needs, Ed mad at him again. He considers not going back that night, finding a hotel to stay at until the next morning, but that would only make everything worse.

It would have been easier if he understood what he was supposed to do. It was better to be respected than feared, that’s what Ed had said right? Then why was he being punished for trying to do just that?

“ _How can there be any respect in hiding away like a coward_?” His mother’s voice chastises him from the reflection of the bottles in front of him. Ever since that day in the library, the ghosts that haunted his mind returned to him whenever they could, taunting him of his failings.

Oswald sighs. “There’s nothing cowardly in wanting to live an honest life. Is it so much to ask that I keep my hands clean from the crimes of my past?”

“ _Since when have you cared about getting your hands dirty to make it to the top_ ?” Fish hisses from over his shoulder. “ _Last I remember_ , _you’d kissed the feet of any person that so much as spit on you if it meant getting what you wanted_.”

“That was a different time. I’m a new person now, a better one.”

“ _And where has that gotten you_ ? _Didn’t you hear what that boy of yours said_ ? _The people in this town hate you now just as much as they did then_.”

The whispers of Fish’s voice echo in his skull. _Hate you_ ... _Hate you_ ... _Hate you_ …But he shakes the words out of his mind.

“That isn’t true. He was just trying to rile me up.”

“ _It isn’t a case of one or the other_ . _He was making you mad because you damn well should be_ . _You should be showing those fools what happens when you find them whispering behind your back_.”

“They weren’t. It was a lie, it’s just a lie,” he mutters to himself. His mother watches him with sadness in her eyes.

“ _Don’t try to convince your Mama of what you know isn’t true. They all hate you_ , Liebchen. _How long do you think you have before he hates you too_?”

He can’t hold back the tears pooling in his eyes. He’d been trying to keep himself from think such a thing, but now it seemed almost inevitable. The two of them had hardly spent any time together since election night, only seeing each other when they were ready to sleep, and sometimes not even then. He could almost feel him slipping away with every passing minute. If something didn’t change soon-

“Hello again.”

His eyes shift away from the bottles shocked at hearing that voice again. That woman is here, the librarian with Kringle’s face, staring directly at him from the end of his aisle.

“Isabelle,” he says, wiping the tears from his face.

She chuckles, stepping closer. “It’s Isabell _a,_ actually. I hope you’re feeling better than the last time I saw you, although by the looks of it, that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

“No, it is not.” He straightens himself up again. “Unfortunately, I find myself in rather unwelcome circumstances.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I wish there was some way I could help.”

He clears his throat, stuck on how to respond to that. What kind of person did that for someone they’d just met? He couldn’t believe some like that existed in real life, kind enough to help a stranger in need. She probably had friends all over town, people that appreciated her for who she was and praised her whenever they could.

He swallows back his the wave of jealousy burning inside of him. He has no reason to punish this woman with his own bitterness, not for sharing her kindness with him or bearing an innocent resemblance to a woman he’s never met.

“Thank you for the offer, but unless you can tell me which of these tastes the best with mutton, I’m afraid I’m hopeless.”

She hums, looking over the stock in front of them. “Well, red meat always pairs well with a red wine. I’d suggest something like a merlot, or perhaps a cabernet if you’re looking to impress.”

“Cabernet it is then,” he sighs, grabbing the bottle. “It seems I have a lot to make for. I guess it was foolish of me to think that it wouldn’t be so difficult for me to find myself after everything that’s happened. I’ve always heard of people before me trying to make amends, not believing a word of it myself. I never thought I’d be in such a place myself. My mother and father always thought I was destined for great things, and ever since they died, all I’ve wanted is to be the person they both knew I could be...But no matter how much I try, all I’ve done is disappoint everyone around me, just like I’ve always done.”

He breaths out a watery sigh. It feels good to finally spill his thoughts after all this time...and to a complete stranger, he soon realizes. When he looks back up to her, she’s watching him intently.

“Oh...I didn’t mean to dump everything on to you like that.”

“It’s perfectly fine, actually, I’m honored that you would share something like that with me. I’ve spent so much of my life in the pages of books, I forget just how fascinating some people can be in real life.”

“Fascinating,” he repeats with a sad smile. “I think ‘depressing’ would be a better word to describe my life.”

“I find tragedies to be some of the greatest stories we have to offer. They aren’t pretending that life is devoid of struggles, or that every ending is what we hoped for. It’s the reality of what is happening that teaches us our greatest lessons, and makes us think of what it is we truly want.”

Oswald considers her words to himself. “What I want is for other people to respect me...like me, even. I’ve everything I could to make the people I love happy, but I still can’t change who I am underneath it all.”

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. Change never has an end, sometimes it sneaks up on you when you’ve least expected it. There will always be more chances, as long as you have the patience for it.”

“You really think I have what it takes?”

“Of course you do, everyone has it. I watch you grow, I set your wounds to mend, I’m with you before your beginning and beyond your end. What am I?”

In that moment, Oswald can feel the smile slipping from his face, his bad eye twitching ever so slightly. “Time.”

“Yes, that’s correct.” Her face blossoms as a glowing smile spreads across her cheeks. “Do you like riddles?

“On occasion,” he replies flatly.

There’s a beat of silence between them, then after a moment she flusters under his hard stare. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t usually talk this much with other people.”

Oswald watches the light blush dusting her face, entranced by her modesty. It was likely a byproduct of the class she held about her, along with the agreeable attitude that no doubt allowed her to excel at her job. Then there was everything else about her, her taste in wine, the riddles. It was so uncanny, almost like he was talking to Ed, back at Arkham when they’d first met.

This woman was no Kristen Kringle, she was so much more.

He can’t help the smile that quirks at his mouth. “Well, if this has only been a taste of how your mind works, I’d love to hear more. Would you mind that, if we talked a little while longer?”

To his surprise, she responds with a smile of her own. “No, not at all.”

 

**.**

**.**

 

Ed’s fingers drum atop the wooden surface of the table as he checks his watch again. Nine thirteen, over two hours past the time they were meant to eat. He could forgive a few minutes, even a half hour perhaps, but this was absolutely ridiculous.

He opens his phone to find he has no new messages. He’d texted Oswald asking where he was thirty minutes ago, without ever receiving a response.

Suddenly, he wonders if something’s happened to him. What if Butch had come back without his knowing, snatched him up when Ed was off his guard? Were that the case, he would have received a call by now with a list of demands. Perhaps it was someone else that took him, someone without the expertise to know how to properly announce a ransom, or worse, weren’t planning on making any negotiations at all.

He opens his phone again, scrolling through his list of contacts to call Zsasz. If Oswald had been taken in, they didn’t have much time before something happened to him.

He doesn’t get the chance to make that call, however, as the sound of a car pulling into the driveway draws his attention. He walks up to the window, worry replaced by annoyance as he finds Oswald’s car parked outside, the man himself strolling up to the door as if nothing’s wrong.

“I got the wine,” he calls out as he pushes his way through the front door. Ed meets him in the foyer, greeting him with a scowl.

“You’re late. All the food’s gone cold by now.”

Even though his own mood has been soured for the evening, it seems Oswald is unusually chipper considering the near silence they’d been experiencing over the last few days. Without warning, he’s pulled down into a deep kiss. When he pulls away, Oswald is looking up at him with loving eyes.

“I’m sure it’s still just as delicious.” He hands him the bottle of cabernet before heading off into the dining room. “Wow, this is quite the spread you’ve got here. The sight of it alone is amazing, not to mention the smell. You’ve really outdone yourself Ed.”

“Thanks.” Ed looks the bottle over, surprised that he’d managed find something so tasteful for them. Oswald never had quite an eye for spirits. “Well, have a seat. We need to talk.”

“You’re absolutely right!” Oswald sits at his end of the table as Ed uncorks the bottle. “There’s been so much on my mind I can’t wait to share with you.”

Once Ed has their glasses poured, he takes his own seat, glancing at Oswald across the way. He’s watching him with such enthusiasm, it feels wrong ruining the mood so early into they’re meal.

“It’s seems you’re very excited about your news, why don’t you go first.”

“Oh, it can wait.”

“I insist.”

Oswald shrugs, running a finger around his glass in absent minded content.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what’s happened the last few weeks, not just between you and me, but everything else too. A man comes to a crossroads in his life, and he has to make a choice. Does he choose safety in acceptance and approval of his peers, or does he risk everything to become something greater? Tonight, I choose courage.” He spins his glass, airing out the wine before taking a small sip. “There are many things in my life that need to change, and I fear that I’ve sought out change by following the wrong path. For too long now, I’ve been trying to be something I’m not, and that in turn has hurt the people I care for most. No more. If I’m ever going to evolve as a person, it’s going to be as the man I’m meant to be.”

“That’s...good,” Ed murmurs, although he’s hardly listening to the words. His attention is rapt on something else, a nearly unnoticeable detail he can’t take his eyes off of. “What is that?”

“What?”

“On your shirt.”

Oswald follows Ed’s gaze down to the sleeve of his right arm, smiling when he sees the small speckles of red dotting the fabric. “You like games. Why don’t you take a guess?”

“Is that...wine?”

Oswald shakes his head. “Try again.”

Ed’s mouth twitches, the beginnings of a smile threatening to pull at his lips. “Blood?”

“Bingo.”

“Not yours I hope.”

Oswald chuckles. “Of course not.” He sips his wine again, eyes focused on Ed with dark fervor. Despite the tension that had been building inside him over the last two hours, Ed can’t help but share that gaze.

“What did they do?”

Oswald shrugs. “Not much. We had a short exchange that was quite eye opening, if I’m being honest.“ His hand clenches tightly around his glass. “But unfortunately for them, I just wasn’t particularly fond of that face of theirs.”

“Is that so?”

“It was such a pitiful sight, I figured it be best if I...rearranged it a bit. If only you had been there to see it.”

“I wish I was.” Thrill runs through his veins as the vivid imaginings of Oswald’s deed pass through his mind. It was a feeling he hadn’t had in months, one that made him hunger for more.

“So, what was it you wanted to talk about?” Oswald asks.

“Hm?”

“You said you had something you wanted to tell me, what was it?”

It’s then that Ed remembers the conversation he’d been planning for that entire afternoon. He tries to bring some semblance of words to his lips, but every attempt catches in his throat.

Then again, why should he even bother? Why not see where this new development takes him?

“It seems to have slipped my mind.”

Oswald chuckles. “Really? Why that’s so unlike you,” he remarks with a knowing smile. He sets his glass to the the side, pushing his chair back as he stands from his seat. Ed watches in silence as Oswald walks up behind his chair, arms draped loosely over his frame.

“It gets stressful, running the city’s finest establishment. I try my hardest not to let it get to me, dealing with all of those morons, but some days it’s almost unbearable. I’ll have to find some way to manage all that tension if I even hop to keep it up.”

Ed’s body is all too aware as Oswald’s hands begin drifting over his chest, the skin beneath his suit bubbling with goosebumps. Between his buzzing nerves and the ever growing plethora salacious thoughts running through his mind, it takes all of his strength not to make a move.

“I have a suggestion or two that you might like to consider. I’m sure we can arrange for something to your satisfaction… perhaps after dinner.”

“Y’know it’s funny,” Oswald smirks, loosening Ed’s tie with his wandering hand, the fabric tugging against his skin with every movement. “I find I’m not all that hungry all of a sudden.”

Ed grabs onto the hand at his neck, pulling it down until Oswald’s face is mere inches from his own. Their eyes meet, equally matched in the intense heat of pure want. Ed can feel the small hitch in Oswald’s breath against his cheek as he pull that hand back up and presses it to his lips.

“Me neither.”

 

 


End file.
